


A Year in the Life

by lovinthelads



Category: Football RPF
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-20
Updated: 2013-03-20
Packaged: 2017-12-05 21:52:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 49,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/728293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovinthelads/pseuds/lovinthelads
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in the 2011-12 season, the story follows the lives of Fernando Torres, Guti, and Mesut Ozil as they face the challenges the different stages of their careers present.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Year in the Life

Guti pulled his truck into the lot at Besiktas's training center and sighed. He checked his hair in the mirror, wary of the ever present media and coached himself. "I am happy to be back here at Besiktas this season. I am fully dedicated to the club and look forward to helping them win many titles this season. No, no idea what I will do next season."

As he climbed out, kit bag in hand, he heard, "You'll need to do better than that, that smile isn't fooling anyone."

Guti's friend Simao fell into step beside him, and Guti grinned. "You don't believe I am fully dedicated to Besiktas?"

"I think you're fully dedicated to picking up a paycheck from Besiktas," Simao playfully bantered.

"The team's been good to me," Guti protested, though he fully well knew his heart wasn't into it. Not like it had been at Madrid.

"Just think, in less than a year, the season will be over," Simao slapped him on the back as they approached the media crowd outside the training center.

As Guti put his smile back in place, he felt the sting of Simao's words. In less than a year it would be all over.

Then what?

* * * *

"Fernando Torres, you look well pleased with yourself," John Terry said as he slapped the Spaniard on the back. "Knock up your missus again?"

"We're perfectly happy with two, thanks," Fernando said, by now used to the blase way John talked about women. The way most footballers discussed women.

The team trickled into the Cobham dressing room. First full day of training was today. New manager, new start, everything looking up.

New start for me, he thought with a sense of conviction. He'd been at Chelsea for six months now, but he was determinded that this season was a new beginning for him. He was going ot put two lousy seasons of pain and failure behind him. He was going to be fit this season, and he was going to score goals.

"Good holiday?" Frank Lampard asked as he sat next to Fernando, lacing up his training boots.

"Really great," Fernando replied. "Got some rest."

"Good," Frank smiled.

"Congratulations on your engagement."

Frank beamed the way he always did when his fiance was mentioned. Fernando grinned back, the smile infectious. "Thanks mate."

Across the room, Fernando caught a dark look cross John's face. Fernando chatted to Frank about his girls and shared stories of his two's exploits, trying to ignore the thoughts scattering in his head. 

He knew that look too well. That 'you said you loved me, how can you promise to love her' look.

No. He shook the feeling off as he stood. He was not going to get dragged into it all again. This was his life here in England. His family. His job. His football.

What had happened in Spain was over. And he couldn't go back.

* * * *

"Lord, Mesut, did you lie on the beach for a month?" Sergio asked as he grabbed Mesut's dark tanned arm as the did laps around the training pitch. There was jealousy in his eyes, as Sergio's carmel skin wasn't nearly as dark.

Mesut shrugged. "I did some."

"Some," Sergio blew out a breath in indignation. "I go pale if I spend three seconds inside and he's gone dark in an hour."

Mesut grinned. "Genetics."

"If you want to feel good about your tan," chimed in the equally dark skinned Cristiano, "check out el Capitain. I think he spend the summer in a dark room."

All three of them glanced forward at Iker's pasty legs and grinned. "I think she's keeps him locked in a broom cuppoard when she doesn't want him," Sergio teased.

"Will you hens cut it out?" Iker called back good naturedly. "We're training here."

"Make sure you don't burst into flames!" Sergio called as he increased his speed to catch up with Iker. Grabbing him around the middle, Sergio wrestled Iker to the floor, causing the runnign herd to scatter.

Laughter echoed around the pitch as even the staff enjoyed the sight of the two captains wrestling like puppies. 

Iker got the better of Sergio and pinned him down. Both of them were grinning. "Say uncle."

"How about Daddy?" Sergio asked with a wicked twinkle in his eyes.

Iker growled and let him up. "Later."

"Promise?"

Jose's whistle blew and the players resumed their jogging. Iker and Sergio led the way, and Mesut watched them with an affectionate smile. Coming to Madrid had been the best thing he'd ever done. And this season was going to be better than ever.

* * * *

"Jose, can I talk with you?"

The manager came up to Guti after training with a look Guti knew too well. How could he possibly have fucked up already? He'd been to training on time. Put in an effort. Paid attention to the managers babbling.

"Sure," Guti said as he fell into step with the manger. Over the years, he'd played for many, many different managers, some better than others, and they each thought they were something special. Though most of them managed to call him Guti, and not Jose. His parents were the only ones who still called him that. Even his sister called him Guti.

"Jose, you are an important member of this team."

But, Guti added in his head.

"But, we need to be sure to focus on your fitness levels this season. You're not getting any younger, and it's important that you're at your best as much as possible this season if this team is going to be successful."

"Of course," Guti said, even though he'd heard this song and dance before. Cut the partying, Guti. Be in bed at a decent hour like a good boy. 

"I've talked to the trainers about this, and they've agreed that we need to get you on a strict diet and training regiment. They're going to speak with you this afternoon."

"Sure," Guti said, his voice flat. 

The manager smiled and slapped him on the back. "We're going to have a good year, I think."

"Can't wait."

* * * *

Fernando pulled into his driveway as the security gates closed behind him. He got out of his truck, locking the door as a familiar thunder of little feet came running up the path.

“Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!”

Nora hit him, securing her chubby little arms around his left leg, as she beamed up at him.

“I MISSED YOU!” she announced.

Fernando grinned down at her as he adjusted his bag on his shoulder and gathered up his excitable daughter. “I missed you too, princess.”

Nora began to chatter at him about her day. Apparently Leo had thrown jelly on the floor and Mummy had been angry, but Nora knew better than to throw her jelly on the floor and had helped clean up.

“Good girl,” Fernando praised her as they entered the house. 

Olalla appeared with Leo in her arms. “Your turn,” she said with a smile and kissed his cheek. As he took hold of the little boy, he smelled exactly what she meant. Over the summer they’d developed an easy rhythm of co-parenting, and he hated that she had to take it all over again by herself. Most footballers had nannies. Fernando and Olalla refused. Her mother would come to England and stay if they needed to go out, but Olalla was content to stay at home or take the kids to do the shopping. 

Fernando traded her Nora and went to change Leo. 

“How’s Daddy’s big boy?”

Leo kicked his legs and grinned as Fernando cleaned the messy diaper. He loved these little details of life. Things he didn’t get enough of when the season got going. In just a few days the team was leaving for their two week pre-season tour of Asia. It was a hectic schedule of training, media appearances, and matches. It was fun, but so where a lot of other things.

“Hey, you don’t smell any more,” Fernando praised Leo as he picked him up in one arm and deposited the smelly diaper in the pail. “Let’s go see what Mummy and Nora are up to.”

Leo voiced his approval. With a smile, Fernando carried the baby down to the game room, dropping his kit bag in the laundry room where Olalla would empty it later. Life was good.

* * * *

“We’re going out,” Sergio told Mesut as he stepped into the shower. “You’re coming.”

“I am?” Mesut questioned, though he didn’t actually object. He loved it that Sergio made him a part of everything going on. Sergio was making the rounds in the shower, trying to cajole everyone into coming out with him. The married ones said no immediately; wives and children expected them home as they would be gone for two weeks on their preseason tour soon and getting into enough trouble then. Ones in relationships waffled. Girlfriends expected to be showered with gifts and attention, or they would expect to come along. Mesut knew Sergio disliked it when they did. It didn’t help that the girlfriends often glared at every other female in the room and made it hard to pick up girls.

Sami and Mesut turned out to be the only two that Sergio could talk into it. Sergio declared everyone else in the room to be boring and old.

“I’ve got my Spanish lesson at seven,” Mesut said. 

“Come over when you’re done,” Sergio decided, “then we can go pick up Sami and go out. Dinner, dancing?”

“Sure,” Mesut agreed. He probably didn’t have the right thing to wear, but Sergio would fix him before they went out, and put him in something the girls would be sure to like. No one was better at picking up girls than Sergio Ramos. He picked them up, but he could never keep them.

“Girls get on my nerves,” Sergio had complained one night over drinks at his house. “They always want to know how you’re feeling. I mean, seriously, mostly I feel like sleeping or fucking. No girl wants to hear that. Why can’t girls be more like guys?”

Mesut didn’t understand girls, either. He tried. He did what they said they wanted him to do, and then they got mad at you for doing what they asked. He’d just give up on the whole thing if his mother wasn’t so desperate for grandchildren. “That nice Cristiano Ronaldo has a baby and plays football. You can have a baby and play football.” Mesut wasn’t sure his mother was completely aware of the circumstances of the birth of Cris’s one year old son, and Mesut wasn’t sure he wanted to enlighten her.

No, Mesut didn’t get girls, and he didn’t even particularly enjoy fucking them, either, though he’d never admit that to his friends. Guys were supposed to love to fuck, but girls were...

“Don’t think so hard, Mes,” Sergio said as he snapped a towel at Mesut’s bare ass. Mesut laughed and rubbed the red mark Sergio had left.

Boys were so much easier than girls.

* * * *

Guti sat through his meeting with the nutritionist. Yes, lean meats, good carbs, lots of fruits and vegetable, watch the sugar and fat. You’d think these people honestly thought he’d not be an a professional athlete since he was seven years old. He never passed geography in school, but he’d gotten full marks in health class.

Yes, watch the alcohol intake, Guti nodded along. 

Alcohol was bad for you? Who knew?

He managed to escape after an hour and, chucking the folder they’d given him in the back of his truck, got the hell out of there. His mother had done the shopping for him the day before, insisting on leaving him a full refrigerator. He missed her already and she’d not been gone twenty-four hours.

He wanted to go home. Back to Madrid. Forget about Besiktas and nutritional plans and...

His phone rang, saving himself from self loathing. Raul.

 

“Hello?”

“How’s life in sunny Istanbul?”

“About the same, how are you?” Guti’s heart swelled to hear the familiar voice. The voice that wrapped around him like a favorite sweater and took away the day.

“Not bad, not bad. Hey, we have a preseason with Fenerbache. July 28th. Will you be around?”

“I think so,” Guti said as he mentally ran through their pre-season schedule. 

“We’re only in town about 36 hours,” Raul said, “but I can talk the manager into letting me stay an extra night.”

Guti smiled. A night with Raul. “That sounds amazing.”

“God, I miss you,” Raul sighed, lowering his voice. 

“I miss you too, baby. One more year, right?”

“One more,” Raul agreed. “I’ve got to go. I’ll email you the details, alright?”

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

* * * *

The kids were in bed, and Fernando and Olalla curled up together on the couch, watching a movie in Spanish. One night a week, they indulged, the others they made themselves watch television in English. Olalla was already working with Nora to be sure her English was good. They didn’t know how many more years they would be in England, and if Nora and Leo went to school here, they didn’t want them to be behind. Fernando really wanted the kids to be bilingual, so they wouldn’t struggle, as he did when he first came to England.

The movie was boring, and Fernando’s eyes fell heavy.

“Nando?”

“Mmm?” Fernando asked, Olalla’s voice broke into his sleepy haze.

She paused, and Fernando realized she wanted his full attention. He opened his eyes and saw her troubled look. “What is it, honey?”

“The kids and I went to Tescos today, to go shopping.”

This required his full attention? “Okay.”  
Olalla sighed and looked down at the couch. “There were photographers there. They followed us and scared Leo. They were asking all kinds of questions about you and...”

Anger flared in Fernando as he protectively wrapped his arms around Olalla. “How dare they.”

“I didn’t want to tell you because I know you get upset, but they were really rude today.”

“No,” Fernando said earnestly. “You do not have to deal with this alone. This is bullshit they...” Fernando’s anger got the better of him as he held his wife.

“Shhh,” Olalla said. She knew this would upset him.

“Next time I will go with you. I won’t make you deal with that alone.”

“Nando,” Olalla protested. “We can’t wait around for you to go to the store. And you’ll be gone for two weeks. We have to go out.”

“Your mother can come...”

“You don’t want her living with us!”

Fernando sighed. Her mother in law was a good woman, but much more than a week of her in the house made both of them crazy. “I hate that this happens to you. Why do they think they have any right to bother you? I’m the one playing like shit, not you.”

“Shhh,” Olalla said. “You are doing your best.”

“It’s not good enough,” Fernando said, his vulnerability coming out. “What if they want to get rid of me? How will I support us?”

“Hush,” Olalla ordered. “You and I both know we’ve been careful with the money. Nora and Leo will hardly have to work with the trusts we’ve set up.”

“I know,” Fernando said. “I know, I just...”

“We’re going to be fine.”

Fernando held his tongue. He wasn’t a good husband or father. He was never home. The press were hounding them constantly, making a night out for them virtually impossible. This was no life for them. 

“Come on,” Olalla said as she turned off the TV and took his hand. “Let’s just go to bed.”

She’d come to him for comfort and ended up comforting him.

* * * *

Mesut turned up at Sergio’s house and found Sami on the couch drinking a beer. “Hey,” Mesut greeted him with a smile.

“No, no, no,” Sergio said as he stepped in from the kitchen. “Are you a lumberjack?”

Mesut looked down at his red, plaid shirt. He’d seen Guti wearing one just like it. “No?”

“No,” Sergio said. “With your coloring, this is all wrong. Good Lord,” Sergio muttered to himself and ran up the stairs. “Take that off!”

Mesut looked at Sami who was laughing at him. “What?”

“You,” Sami said as Mesut had begun to up button the offensive garment. “Why do you let him dress you?”

“He has a good sense of style,” Mesut said, and realized they were speaking German. This happened to him at home, when he and his family switched between Turkish and German, but he was usually painfully aware he was speaking Spanish or not.

“He’s got a tight ass,” Sami teased.

Mesut flushed. This was not the first time Sami had accused him of having a crush on the lithe Sevillian. “So?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Mesut. We all know he’s into guys. We all know you’re into him.”

“I’m not...” Mesut protested, but just then, Sergio came thundering down the stairs with a crisp white shirt draped over his arm.

“You have to show off that tan,” he insisted and held the shirt up for Mesut to put on.

Obediently, Mesut slipped his arms through the sleeves of the fine cotton shirt, and turned to allow Sergio to button it up. He stared down, unable to look Sergio in the eye as his masculine fingers buttoned up the shirt. He felt a flush creeping up his neck. 

A flush of desire.

“Yes,” Sergio proclaimed as he smoothed the shirt down. “Gorgeous.”

He leaned in and thoughtlessly kissed Mesut on the cheek, oblivious to the effect it had on the young German.

“Drink?”

“S-s-sure,” Mesut stammered, unable to look at Sergio who danced back to the kitchen.

Sami caught his eye and the I- told- you- so was written all over his face.

 

Preseason tour

Fernando laid back in his chair on the posh chartered jet Chelsea used for their overseas matches. He closed his eyes, headphones on, and tried to block out the noise of the chatter on the plane. Leo was teething and he hadn’t gotten any sleep the night before as he tried to sooth the hurting baby. Olalla had offered to take him, but Fernando knew she had two weeks of sleepless nights ahead of her. He had convinced her to have her sister come to stay for the second week he was gone.

“Being antisocial, Mr. Torres?”

Fernando opened his eyes and saw Yossi hanging over his seat, smiling down at him. Fernando smiled back and lifted off his headphones. “Teething baby.”

“Ouch,” Yossi sympathized as he dropped into the seat next to Fernando. “Did you try rubbing whiskey on his gums?”

“Whiskey? For a baby?”

“Sure,” Yossi shrugged. “It’s a natural numbing agent. And it can’t be any worse for the kid than stuff the doctors give you. At least you know what’s in it. Besides, then Dad can have a shot to chase it down.”

Fernando laughed out loud. “Yossi!”

“What? Teething is ugly. And you have a two year old in the house. You and Olalla need all the numbing agents you can get.”

“Hush,” Fernando said, but he was still grinning.

Yossi glanced around. “I guess the captains made up.”

“What?” Fernando asked as he turned to see John and Frank sat side by side. It wasn’t an unusual sight in general, but John had made no secret of the fact that he wasn’t happy about Frank’s engagement. If you believed the rumors in the team, John was a lot of the reason that Frank was no longer with Elen, the mother of his two girls. Fernando usually refrained from making judgments on the personal lives of his teammates; they could do as they liked as long as they kept it off the pitch, but the stories that swirled around John Terry was enough to make even the least gossipy person raise an eyebrow.

“I think it’s rich that Terry gets jealous when he’s got a wife and kids at home.”

Fernando shrugged, unwilling to get involved in Yossi’s gossip.

“Lord, did you hear that Martin has been fucking Andy Carroll? Apparently Danny blew a gasket at him in the dressing room the other day.”

Against his better judgment, Fernando asked, “Really? I thought Martin and Danny were pretty solid?”

“Well, we all knew about Danny and Stevie, didn’t we?”

“But Martin didn’t!”

“He does now!”

Fernando shook his head. “Those Liverpool lads need to sort themselves out.”

“Oh, hush, you miss it!” Yossi grinned.

“Oh, I wasn’t saying I didn’t miss it, I’m just saying they need to sort it out!” Fernando smiled.

“Well, I’ll let you get your rest.”

“I come on these tours to get some sleep,” Fernando joked, though it was only true. International breaks were the best. They got their own rooms and some afternoons Fernando would just hide and sleep for five or six hours. 

Fernando put his headphones back on and drifted off to sleep, too tired to think about anything.

* * * *

“I was born for LA,” Sergio said as he slid on his shades and stepped off the jet into the bright California sun.

Mesut was behind him, and squinted into the light, jet lagged and not quite sure LA was his kind of town at all.

“You could transfer to the LA Galaxy,” Iker suggested playfully.

“And take a pay cut?” Sergio scoffed. “Then I’d have to live like the poor people in LA.”

“Might have to take the bus,” Mesut chimed in.

“Do. Not. Say. That.” Sergio shuddered. It was a joke among the team that Sergio would drive from one metro station to the next to avoid having to take public transport. 

“Jose! Is Sergio’s limo ready?” Iker called as the team made their way to the bus that would transport them to the Beverly Hills Hotel where they were staying.

“Got stuck in traffic, I’m afraid,” Jose said. “And he’s not riding in mine.”

Sergio sighed dramatically as he boarded the bus. “We’ll all get along better when you people learn to worship me.”

Mesut grabbed a window seat, and Sami dropped into the seat next to him. They’d both been on the LA trip last summer, but Mesut never got tired of seeing the sights in the places they visited. He loved traveling.

“Where shall we shop first, Rodeo?” Sami teased as Mesut eyed the palm tree lined streets.

“Of course,” Mesut grinned broadly. “Actually, I really want to go to the beach.”

“Your tan not dark enough yet?” Sergio teased from across the aisle.

“I have to keep it up!” Mesut replied with a grin.

“Don’t suppose we’re allowed to go surfing, are we?” lamented one of the youth team players who’d come along. 

“Probably not,” Mesut agreed. Mesut knew he should know the kid’s name by now. He didn’t want to be one of those first team players who thought he was better than the younger players. Those kids could be on the first team any day, challenging him for his spot. No sense making himself a target by being arrogant. “I bet we could go to Santa Monica pier. We could ride the rides!”

Sergio rolled his eyes, but he was grinning. “Mesut, some days I think you’re five years old.”

Iker elbow him. “Better than going to Hollywood Boulevard to pick up hookers with YOU.”

Sergio laughed out loud. “I know Cristiano will come with me!”

“Fuck you, Ramos!” the Portuguese player called from the back of the bus.”

“Only if you buy me dinner, first!”

* * * *

Guti flipped through his Twitter feed and saw pictures of his Real Madrid mates cavorting on the beaches of Southern California and felt a twinge of jealousy. Sure, Turkey had gorgeous beaches, and he’d spent most of his summer on the beaches in Ibiza with his ex-girlfriend, but he missed the camaraderie of the Real Madrid dressing room. The Besiktas players were nice enough, but the sad fact was that Guti’s English wasn’t good enough to really communicate with any of them. He knew he was in trouble the end of last season when he’d realized that other than Simao, his best friend at the club was Zeki, his translator.

Zeki was a nice guy, but he only hung out with Guti because he was paid to do so. He got the feeling that the Turkish man didn’t like Guti very much, and Guti wondered if some times he didn’t change things Guti said to make him look stupid. As if the homophobic Turkish press didn’t already think he was some flamboyant, gay sinner.

Besiktas wasn’t really doing a pre season tour; they just had a few days training in Austria and then some matches with second rate European clubs. Sure, Real was playing American teams who were worse than second rate European clubs, but at least they got to go to America.

He set down his phone and ran his fork through what was left of the salad on his plate. What he wanted was a steak and a large glass of good Spanish wine. A night on the town.

He texted Simao, but Simao reported he was busy with family visiting. He decided to go visit the tattoo parlor his good friend Wally Lopez had hooked him up with in Istanbul. Those were fun people, Guti thought, his spirits lifting. Maybe he could get rid of his ex-girlfriend’s name he’d stupidly had tattooed on himself in June, thinking he could actually make that relationship work. 

Noe wasn’t a bad girl, but she wanted things from Guti that Guti couldn’t give her. He didn’t want to get married again, and he didn’t want any more kids. It was hard enough not getting to see them every day, let alone them think that he’d replaced them with some new family. He could never replace either of them.

Raul would be here in three days, and that’s all Guti cared about.

* * * *

“Fernando, do you think you’ll get back your best this season?”

“Of course,” Fernando said, even though anger at the question flared inside him. Why couldn’t they leave this alone? He knew he’d sucked since coming to Chelsea. Didn’t they think the weight of that transfer feel was on his back every minute of every day. “I am working very hard every day with my teammates and I hope I can help us win many trophies this season.”

John stepped in. “Fernando is working very hard. I don’t think any one appreciates how hard he trains. He is one of the most dedicated professionals I’ve ever worked with in my life, and I think if people could have some patience with him, they’d see that he still is a top class player who we are proud to have on the team.”

Gratitude rushed through Fernando. It was always heartening to have his teammates stand up for him.

The reporters, sensing they weren’t going to get any dirt there, moved on to the manager, seeking blood.

“What are the expectations for the team this year?”

Translate: How soon do you expect to be sacked if you don’t win the Champions League?

Fernando tuned it out. He looked in the general direction of Andre as he spoke, not wanting to act like he didn’t care, but, he didn’t. He cared what Andre had to tell them in training. Fernando was impressed with their new, young manager, and thought the man had potential to be a great manager if given a chance.

If.

* * * *

Mesut sat on the bench, having been pulled out of their preseason match against…what team was that again? They were in China now, and Mesut wasn’t even sure what time of day it was, let alone where exactly in China they were. He glanced at the score board. They were winning handily. He’d scored a goal. That’s all he cared about. 

He was sat next to Benz, who Mesut liked, but had trouble talking too as Benz’s Spanish left a lot to be desired, as well as his accent confused Mesut. Sami was on the other side of Benz, and threw a chunk of ice at Mesut. Mesut reached over and pinched his arm.

“Quit it!” Sami said, slapping Mesut’s hand away, and catching Benz in the process.

Mesut pulled back, but he was grinning . Benz was laugh at both of them. Mesut casually brushed his hair back and went in again.

“Cut it out, you little shit!” Sami pulled his arm away as Benz rolled. 

“Would you two behave!” Iker called over.

Mesut stretched and grinned back at Iker. “I’m behaving. Sami started it!”

“He pinched me!”

One of the trainers came over and sat next to Mesut. Mesut crossed his arms and became very interested in the events on the pitch.

“You are too funny,” Benz told him.

Mesut was grinning to himself. He loved this team too much. These players. This moment. It was really their year.

* * * *

The taxi dropped Raul in front of Guti’s house, and Guti ran to open the door. He didn’t care about being calm or cool. His Raul was here.

“Hey baby,” Raul said, kissing him deeply as Guti dragged him into the house. Raul didn’t have a chance to kick off his shoes as Guti pulled him to his bedroom to make love.

As they fell into a sweaty, sated heap, Raul pulled Guti close. “Mi amor, what’s the matter.

“I have missed you so much,” Guti said as tears sprang to his eyes.

“Oh, Guti,” Raul said as the tears came into his eyes as well. “I thought you were better.”

Guti sniffed. “I thought I was. This summer was so good. I was home. I had Noe...”

“What happened with her?” Raul whispered.

“She wanted to get married.”

“Oh,” Raul said quietly, kissing his forehead. They’d talked before about this. Raul wanted Guti to be settled, but Guti couldn’t seem to commit to anyone. He understood that Raul was happy with his family, and Guti wanted his kids with him more, but none of it fit together.

“I wanna go home,” Guti said, aware he sounded like a little kid, but Raul only held him tighter.

“Shhh,” Raul begged. “This is your home for right now. And you’ll be in Madrid at the international break in just a couple of weeks. Mamen is going to have the kids in Madrid for school holidays, and you can come and stay with us. Bring Aitor and Zayra.”

“Yeah?” Guti asked, warming to the idea. “They’re on holiday too. I’m gonna have them for several days.”

“Then it’s settled,” Raul pulled the duvet up over them.

Guti wrapped himself around Raul, in an attempt to meld himself into his beloved. It would be good to be back in Madrid with Raul. And in a year, they’d be back for good.

 

International Break- August

 

Fernando always felt like he was running the gauntlet when he crossed the parking lot from where the taxi dropped him off to get to the national team training complex. It was like some sadist had designed the place to be sure maximum harassment possibilities by the media. 

“Fernando!”

“Fernando!”

“Fernando! You scored twice this preseason, do you think that means you’ll finally start scoring goals for Chelsea?”

Fernando smiled weakly as he made his way past the reporters. In his head, he thought up the most sarcastic reply he could think of . “No, as a matter of fact, they’ve asked me to stop scoring goals. I’m going to try to set a league record for most own goals sold by an overpriced transfer in a single match.”

“Don’t say it.”

Startled, Fernando looked up and saw his friend Juan Mata had appeared at his side.

“Juan!”

“Juan!”

“Is it true you’re transferring to Arsenal?”

The question caused Fernando to raise an eyebrow, but Juan shook his head slightly and muttered, “We’ll talk later.”

They made it past the hoard, and into the training center. Several other newly arrived players milled about, waiting for room keys. Fernando smiled at them all.

“Fernando Torres, the invisible man,” Pepe Reina said from where he sat in the lounge. “I called you three times this summer!”

Fernando felt guilty. Pepe had called, but he’d been busy. “I know. I need to get up and see your new son.”

“He’s perfect, of course,” Pepe said as he hugged Fernando. “Does Nora still think she’s Leo’s mother? Because my girls think they know better than my wife about looking after him.”

“Yes,” Fernando agreed with a grin. In that moment, he missed Pepe a lot. “Sorry I didn’t call. I had a lot of princess business to attend to.”

Pepe waved a hand an dismissed his guilt. “Never mind, we were busy as well. It’s amazing how full five free weeks become when your wife realizes she has your undivided attention.”

“La la la la, babies and wives, babies and wives!” Cesc Fabregas, who looked like he hadn’t shaved or combed his hair in a month pushed through them.

Pepe caught him in a headlock and grabbed a handful of frizzy hair. “It’s called being an adult, Fabregas, you might want to give it a try some day.

“La la la la don’t wanna can’t make meeeee!” Cesc ended on a squeal as Pepe pulled his hair.

“Pepe!” Iker barked from across the room. “Quit tormenting Cesc!”

“Make me!” Pepe replied with a grin, easily overpowering the smaller Catalan who struggled in his arms.

Carles Puyol stepped in and pinched Pepe’s ear. “Leave my future teammate alone!”

Pepe relented and let go of Cesc who scampered to the safety behind Carles. He stuck out his tongue at Pepe.

Pepe feinted going after him again and Cesc yelped.

“So are you fucking moving to Barcelona or not so I can sell the story to the papers?”

Fernando turned when he heard the voice, and saw Sergio sauntering up. His mouth went dry. How did Sergio look better every single time he saw him?

“I don’t know!” Cesc said, clutching Carles’s arm and eyeing Pepe.

“Yes you fucking do,” Sergio tossed his hair. “Yes or no?”

“They’re in negotiations!”

“Up the offer,” Sergio told Carles. “Mata wants his spot at Arsenal.”

Juan, who’d been hovering just outside the action, shook his head. “I don’t know what’s happening!”

Fernando smiled supportively. “At least I can’t legally transfer this summer. It’s been a nice break.”

The team manager arrived with keys, and the players began to disperse. Iker reminded them they were meeting for a light session at seven before dinner.

Juan hung back, waiting for Fernando.

“Chelsea have offered for me,” Juan told him quietly.

“Really?” Fernando asked, his face lighting up. Yossi had told him earlier that week that Chelsea were probably going to get rid of him, and the thought of having a friend, a native Spanish speaker, no less, on the team made him happy. “You should take it. Chelsea is a great team.”

“Arsenal put in a nice offer too,” Juan said. “My dad told me to think it over while I was on international break and see what I wanted to do.”

“What do you want to do?”

Juan shrugged. “I want to have my Valencia team back from two seasons ago.”

Fernando nodded sympathetically. “It never stays the same.”

“I know,” Juan sighed. “I hate it.”

“Come to Chelsea,” Fernando urged. “There is a great atmosphere at the team. Everyone is really friendly and works hard. The new manager is great.”

Juan chuckled. “You sound like an advert.”

Fernando grinned. “It is good though. And London is great. Besides, do you really want to move to Arsenal as Cesc’s replacement?”

“No,” Juan said honestly. “Can you even imagine?”

“I can. Don’t.”

* * * *

Mesut climbed out of the taxi and stepped quickly into the restaurant without looking around. After a year in Madrid, he'd learned that there was pretty much always someone around with a camera, seeing where you were and who you were with. Never mind he was just here for dinner with his parents and his gran; they'd make something out of nothing.

"Mesut Ozil in secret rendezvous!"

His parents were already seated since Mesut was about ten minutes late. He'd sent a text ahead, but that his parents were the picture of German effeciency, they didn't tolerate lateness.

"Mesut, how are you, it seems like we haven't seen you in ages!" His mother exclaimed as she looked him over.

Mesut squashed a little guilty feeling that he'd gone on holiday with his friends and spent time improving his home in Madrid on his break, and only spent a weekend home in Germany with his parents.

"Is the team ready for Wednesday's match?" his father asked as Mesut leaned over to kiss his grandmother on the cheek.

"Such a good boy," his grandmother beamed at him and patted his cheek.

"I think so," Mesut said as he took a seat. The waiter handed him a menu, and from the looks of everyone else, they'd already ordered. He quickly chose a healthy option and gave the waiter his order.

He enquired after his sister and he and his father briefly discussed the football, but his mother was giving him that look again, the one she always got when she was about to start questioning his personal life.

When after the waiter brought their salads, there was a lull in the conversation. 

"So," his mother began. "Are you seeing anyone nice?"

"Mother," his father interjected on his behalf, but he was glared into submission.

"What? A mother has a right to ask if her adult son is going to settle down and stop acting like a teenager."

Mesut cringed, thinking of the wild night he, Sami, and Sergio had in Madrid a few weeks ago. How he'd danced with Sergio. Let Sergio touch him.

"Not anyone right now," Mesut hedged. "We've been really busy with the preseason."

"When will you meet a nice girl?" his mother lamented. "And not one of those bimbos you keep picking up. Some nice, wholesome girl. Someone you can raise a family with."

Mesut cringed again at the reference to his last ex. She had been a bimbo. He honestly couldn't even say why he'd dated her.

His grandmother was regarding him thoughtfully. "Mesut will find someone," she said confidently. "Someone who cares about him and will look after him."

Mesut turned to her. "Thank you, gran."

His mother threw up her hands. "I'm just saying, a woman has a right to expect grandchildren."

* * * *

"Aitor got in trouble at school at the end of term party," Zayra happily announced as she launched herself at her father.

She was really getting too big to be doing that, but Guti caught her anyway, wrapping himself around her.

"Did he?"

"It wasn't a big deal," Aitor pouted as he waited his turn to hug their father. He stood with their mother, Arachne, who smiled at Guti, long over their divorce.

"He kicked a football at the drinks table and got punch all over Mrs. Suarez," Zayra gleefully informed Guti.

Guti couldn't hold in a grin. Sounded like something he would have done at Aitor's age. He set Zayra down and gave Aitor a more dignified hug. The boy had decided over the last year that he was a man now, and didn't give big hugs like Zayra. 

When had they grown up?

"How are you?" Arachne politely enquired as she kissed Guti on the cheek. 

"Alright, how are you?"

"Fine," she said. "You're dropping them off Thursday?"

"In the morning," Guti agreed. "I have a ten am flight back to Istanbul."

"Only three days?" Zayra whined, attaching herself to Guti's side as though he could disappear at any moment. 

"We're going to Raul and Mamen's."

"YES!" both kids whooped for joy.

"Raul's back in town?" Arachne asked with a knowing arch of her eyebrow.

"For the break," Guti said, unable to meet her eye. Knowing that Raul was part of the reason they were divorced. Knowing she knew how much Raul meant to him.

Aitor began tugging on Guti's other hand. "Dad, come on!"

"Say goodbye to your mother," Guti said and both kids detached from him long enough to bid her farewell. Guti was so grateful to have her as the mother of his children. She was a good mother, and didn't even mind when then begged to come and see him all the time.

Guti let himself be dragged out to the car where Arachne had already loaded in their belongings. With a heart lighter than it had felt in months, he drove them out to Raul and Maman's house.

* * * *

Fernando lay on his bed, checking emails. The door to his room was open, inviting in whoever wanted to stop by and chat. Training had been long that day, but the team was relaxing before dinner. Fernando didn't like to nap this late in the afternoon or he had trouble sleeping.

"So, Mata coming to Chelsea?"

Fernando looked up and saw Sergio leaning on his door frame. Desire rushed through Fernando, unabated since those first teenage days when they had found each other.

"Probably," Fernando said as he closed his lap top and sat up. "Come in."

Sergio entered, casually kicking the door closed behind him. Fernando's stomach lurched. He shouldn't be alone in this space with Sergio. He wasn't going to do this anymore. He was not going to be a husband who cheated. Cheated on his devoted wife who was even now taking Nora to the doctor to see about an ear ache.

Sergio licked his lips. "Everything good in London?"

"Really good," Fernando said, scooting off the bed even as Sergio approached it. "Kids are great."

"Got pictures?" Sergio asked, too innocently to be innocent.

"Yeah," Fernando said, reaching for his phone on the end table. He pulled up a photo of Nora and Leo at the park.

Sergio took the phone, his fingers deliberately caressing Fernando's. "Isn't that sweet. How old are they now?"

"Nora's just two, and Leo is eight months."

Sergio offered the phone back and trapped Fernando's eyes with his own.

Fernando's heart raced. "We...we can't."

"So you said this summer," Sergio said, his eyes unrelenting.

"Sergio..."

"What?" Sergio asked as he moved closer to Fernando. Not blocking his way. Not forcing him to do anything. But undenably holding him in his spell.

"We...can't..." Fernando's voice had become a low whine. Even he didn't believe himself any more. He couldn't say no to this. He needed Sergio too much.

Fernando grabbed Sergio and pulled him close, their mouths crashing together in a desperate kiss.

Just this once, Fernando rationalized, even as he knew he was lying.

There was never just once with Sergio.

* * * *

Day 4: Internationals continued:

 

"Where are we going?" Mesut asked as he stared out the window of the bus.

"You'd be wandering around the streets of Munich if I wasn't here to keep you organized," Sami teased.

"Shut up!" Mesut grinned. "My mother things I need a nice girl to keep me in line. Maybe I'll bring you home!"

"What?" Sami asked as his eyes got wide.

"With that long hair, we could pass you off as a girl," Mesut said as he tugged Sami's locks.

"You are so dead," Sami said as he lunged at Mesut.

"CUT IT OUT!" Bastian yelled from the seat next to him as arms and legs flailed around.

Mesut and Sami disengaged, but Mesut was laughing as Sami settled in to pout. 

Mario peered over the seat. "I think you'd look well fit in a dress."

"You!" Sami grabbed for him, but Mario disappeared again as the bus roared with laughter.

Mesut was biting his lip. "So where are we going, again?"

"Your funeral," Sami grumbled as he put his headphones on and ignored Mesut for the rest of the trip.

The arrived at a sports complex, and the team, in their shiny new warm ups, filed out. Mesut saw the women's team was already there and he waved to the ladies he knew.

"Hey, Mes," Lira said as she approached him. "How are things in sunny Madrid?"

"Great," he said with a smile. "Sorry about the World Cup." Mesut knew that the women's team had been expected to bring home the trophy.

Lira nodded. "Thanks. It was a tough tournament."

“You guys were good,” Mesut praised.

“You watch it?”

“Some,” Mesut admitted, not meeting her eye.

“Girls not exciting enough for you?” Lira teased as she moved in to tickle him.

Mesut flushed as he squirmed away from her. “I was...busy.”

“On holiday?”

“Maybe.”

“Oi, Mesut, hands off the ladies!” Mario called over.

“Yeah, Mesut,” Lira said even though she was the one who’d been all over him. “My boyfriend will have an issue with you.”

“I didn’t!” Mesut protested even as he grinned at her. Lira was a good girl, Mesut thought wistfully, though his mother would never approve. She wanted a wife and mother for Mesut, not a professional footballer.

* * * *

Guti pulled himself out of the pool, laughing. "I'll be right back!"

"You better be!" Raul shouted as all six kids converged on him, squealing in delight.

Guti dried himself off enough to pad into the house to use the bathroom. It was a blazing hot August afternoon, and they'd been in the pool for hours playing volleyball and various rounds of "dunk Zayra" which the 12? year old girl tolerated only because she had a crush on Raul's oldest, ?, and had done since they were about five.

"Having fun?" Mamen asked as Guti emerged from the bathroom. She'd come inside a couple of hours ago to put the baby down for a nap and taken the opportunity to escape the noise that eight children made in the pool.

"I am," Guti smiled as he stole a carrot stick off the tray of snacks she was preparing. She playfully batted his hand away.

Through the window, Guti saw that Raul was losing the war against the kids, who'd drug him under. "Should we save him?"

"Nah," Mamen shook her head. "They'd never actually drown him. I don't think."

Guti laughed and went to thr fridge to get himself a drink. "God, it's so good to be in a house full of noise again."

"To quiet in Istanbul?"

"The house is dead silent when I get home," Guti sighed. "I've never lived in this much quiet in my whole life."

Mamen looked at him thoughtfully. "So Istanbul's not good?"

"It's alright," Guti said with a shrug. "It's a beautiful city and really a good club and all but..."

"It gets lonely, doesn't it?"

"Yes," Guti said. 

"Raul mentioned you were struggling a bit."

The comment was off hand, but Guti knew there was more in it. Mamen was aware that Raul and Guti had been lovers. She'd gotten upset about it years ago, and Guti knew that it had come close to destroying their marriage. But Raul and Mamen hadn't wanted to do that to the kids. They'd worked things out, but Raul had never given Guti details. Raul and Mamen made a good team, honestly did love each other, and the kids were happy and well loved.

But she had to know that when Raul stayed an extra night in Istanbul, he was going to be with Guti. It would be an insult to Mamen to think she wasn't smart enough to see that. When the papers were full of headlines about Guti's weekend in Madrid, the same weekend Raul happened to have business there, she had to know.

Though she wasn't stupid, she knew she had the upper hand. Raul would never leave her. El Angel de Madrid could never been seen with Guti, so they were very careful not to get caught. She had all of Raul she wanted.

Guti could have what was left over.

"He loves you a lot," Mamen said, seeming to read Guti's thoughts. "But at the end of the day, who do you have?"

Guti looked at Mamen. There was no malice in her eyes, only concern.

"My kids."

Mamen nodded. "And they're amazing."

"But they're not enough, are they?"

Mamen sighed. "They're growing up fast. And while they'll always need you on some level..."

"I know," Guti said. "I'm still alone."

* * * *

The Season Begins

 

Fernando returned from Spain in a foul mood. Olalla knew something was up, but she didn't ask. Maybe because she didn't want to know.

Not only had Fernando cheated on his wife, then he'd gone and tried to make Sergio feel bad about it. As if Sergio had forced him to do something he didn't want to.

"Fuck off, Nando," Sergio had said when Fernando had said it had been a mistake. "You can't blame this on me."

"You keep coming around! I told you I didn't want to do this any more!"

"So why do you keep coming on to me then? You can't be a perfect little husband and father and still look at me like you want my cock up your ass! You fucking don't get to have her and then throw it in my face when you make me want you, too."

"I didn't look at you like that!"

"Oh fuck off!" Sergio had yelled and stormed out of the room. The rest of the team had given them wide berth the rest of the week, especially after Fernando had nearly taken Xabi's head off for asking how his wife was.

It didn't help that everyone in the house was tired after he got home. Nora was recovering from an ear infection that had kept the little girl up nights, Leo was still teething, and Olalla looked like she wanted to tell them all to just shut the hell up.

"You alright, mate?" Ashely Cole asked as he sat next to Fernando at lunch Monday afternoon.

Fernando sighed. "Yeah, just...stuff."

Ashley smiled. "Women?"

Fernando chuckled. "You could say that."

"Well, I won't offer any advice. I'm a disgrace of a husband."

Fernando did feel bad for Ashley, who's personal life did get drug through the mud on a regular basis. At least Fernando got to fall apart in private. Not that Ashley was a completely innocent party, but his ex wife was at least as responsible for their problems as he was, but she played the media a lot better than he did.

"Weren't we promised that if you found the right girl, fell in love, you'd live happily ever after?"

Ashley snorted. "You been reading too many fairy tales to your kid, mate. We were lied to. There is no happy ending. If you're lucky, like we are, you get a good job, you pay the bills, you have a good time, and at the end of the day, hope you didn't turn out to be too much of a bastard."

Fernando laughed. "Dammit, I'm throwing away all of Nora's princess books tonight."

"Nah," Ashley grinned. "Let her believe in romance until she's at least ten. Then sit her down and explain to her that all men are basically bastards and if you catch her dating a footballer, you'll lock her in a tower until she's thirty."

* * * *

They were losing and Mesut was frustrated. He hated playing Barcelona. He hated that they thought they were better than Real. Even if they were right most of the time, they didn't have to be so goddamn smug about it. Something about the look on David Villa's face just made him want to smack the Spaniard into next week. Never mind some of the racist things that came out of their mouths. Not that the Real players were blameless, but if Barcelona was going to pretend to be so fucking perfect, maybe they shouldn't call people names.

Barcelona had just scored the winning goal, and it wasn't over yet but Mesut had been subbed out, and could do nothing but watch helplessly from the bench.

Suddenly, Marcelo tackled Cesc Fabregas hard, right in front of the bench. It was ugly, and both benches immediately came to their feet.

Players surrounded them both. Cesc was on the floor, writhing in pain, in real danger of getting trampled as the Barcelona players went for Marcelo. The ref quickly produced a red card, but that did little to placate either side. 

Mesut got up, angry. Oh, they fucking did not expect more than that out of the ref, did they? 

Xavi was trying to break things up, but someone shoved Mesut.

Mesut didn't even see who it was, but suddenly David Villa was in his face screaming something Mesut didn't understand. Anger flared in Mesut as he lunged for Villa, and got smacked in the face. The lost control of himself, and the next few moments were a blur.

There was a melee; Mesut got shoved around as players and coaches joined the fray, some lashing out, others trying to stop what was going on.

"You need to calm down!" some fat man Mesut didn't even know was pushing him back.

"I fucking got slapped twice!" Mesut screamed at him.

A Barcelona player had him by the arm and was trying to drag him away. 

"Fucking let go of me!" Mesut fought against him, trying to get back into the fray. Find whoever slapped him and get his revenge. Fucking Barcelona. God damn fucking Barcelona.

And them his teammates surrounded him. Pepe pulled him back while Riccy got in front of him. "Come on, Mes. Calm down."

A red card flashed in Mesut's face, and he couldn't believe it. He? HE had been red carded?

"I GOT SLAPPED!"

"Come on," Marcelo had him and was dragging him away.

"No!" Mesut struggled against him. "They did this! They hit me!"

"Walk away!"

Mesut was shoved down the tunnel by Marcelo where he stumbled down the stairs. He landed in an angry heap, hot tears of frustration running down his face.

"Hey," a familiar voice broke thought Mesut's anger, and he looked up to see Sami crouched down in front of him.

"I fucking hate them. I fucking hate them all."

"I know," Sami said. "I know."

Sami helped him to his feet and guided him into the dressing room, his touch caring. Tears still feel down Mesut's face, but Sami's presence calmed him. 

In the dressing room, Mesut slumped in front of his locker, all the anger draining from him, leaving him limp. His face burned with the pain of the slap,and the indignity of his lost temper.

"What happened?" Sami asked quietly.

"I got hit. Twice."

"They hit you?"

"Yes."

"Did you fight back?"

"Probably," Mesut said, a small smile breaking onto his face.

"Probably?" Sami asked incredulously.

Mesut shrugged and Sami shook his head. "We are in so much trouble."

The smile melted away as Mesut knew exactly what he meant. After the fracas in the spring, the team had been heavily dressed down by both the manager and the directors. Long winded speeches about their behavior, the reputation of the club, and how hard they would come down on the team if it ever happened again.

There was a roar from the stadium. Barcelona had obviously won the game. A few moments later, the team and staff began to file into the room, stony silences all around.

Jose did not join them, most likely gone to put out some fires with the press. When everyone was assembled, sat at their lockers, Iker stood.

"I can deal with the fact that we lose. I can even deal with the fact that a lot of the time, Barcelona play better than we do." No one could meet Iker's eyes. "But I cannot deal with is us bringing shame onto ourselves with our bad behavior."

"They..." Sergio started to speak up, but Iker shut him down.

"I don't fucking care what they did. This is not about them. This is about us."

Sergio sat back, still fuming.

"We are Madridista. We are better than this."

Eyes rose to Iker, as everyone absorbed what he said. 

"We are Madrisita," Sergio echoed, nodding.

"I'm sorry," Mesut spoke up, hot shame filling him.

Iker came over to him and pulled Mesut's head to his chest. "I know."

"I'm sorry too," Marcelo said. "I just, lost my head."

Iker nodded at him as he held Mesut. "We are better than this."

* * * *

"No match again?" Guti asked with a groan when the notice went up in the dining room. 

"Turkish FA still hasn't gotten it sorted out," Simao said with a sigh. "And they haven't even been paying us."

Guti had noticed. He wasn't poor, but any means, but a lot of his money was tied up in investements, out of his reach. He'd have to call his broker this week and see if he couldn't get some cash to tide him over.

"We get Sunday off, at least," Simao said, nodding to the notice.

"Oh good," Guti said with a sigh. A day off was just long enough to do nothing. At least if he had the weekend he could go back to Spain.

"We should do something," Simao decided.

"What, you just reminded me I was broke!"

Simao grinned. "You, me, and Hugo. We can hit one of the beaches and then go to a casino."

"Yeah?" Guti said, warming to the idea. Hugo Almedia wasn't one of Guti's best friends on the team, but he had nothing against the Portuguese man. 

"Hugo! You're in, right?” Simao said to Hugo as he joined them.

“Always,” Hugo said with a smirk at Guti.

Guti laughed. Yes. This was what he needed.

* * * *

Day 5

The season started with a luke-warm draw to Stoke. Fernando realized immediately that the team needed a spark, something for the midfield.

Essien was out for a long time, and Frank Lampard. Well, Fernando had nothing but respect for the Chelsea vice captain, but he wasn’t the play maker he used to be. To doubt he still had an important role to play in the team was ludicrous, but there was just something missing.

And then it happened.

Fernando was sitting at home, reading Nora a book when the phone rang. Olalla answered it as the brave prince saved the beautiful young princess from the dragon, and as Nora’s eyes drifted closed, Olalla appeared.

“It’s Juan Mata.”

Fernando frowned for a moment as he carefully laid the drowsy two year old in her bed with a kiss. Nora was too tired to protest as her eyes fell closed. 

Fernando took the phone.

“Hello?”

“It’s done!” Juan said joyfully. “I’m coming to Chelsea.”

“You are?” Fernando asked happily as he made his way down stairs. “Oh, mate, that’s excellent!”

“I’m landing in London now. I have to go sign some stuff, but...”

“You want me to meet you? You got a place to stay? You can stay here if you like?”

“Could I?” Juan asked. “I mean, they’ll put me up in a hotel and all.”

“Nonsense,” Fernando said. “Are you going to be at Stamford Bridge? I’ll come collect you.”

Olalla looked questioningly at Fernando and he covered the mouthpiece.

“Juan just signed for Chelsea. Can he stay a couple days?”

“Of course,” Olalla smiled at him. “I’ll check the spare room is ready.”

Fernando found his keys and pulled on his trainers. Yes! This was so exactly what Chelsea needed. And what Fernando needed. With Yossi likely on his way out, Fernando needed a new friend at Chelsea. It wasn’t that all of the lads weren’t good fun, but he just didn’t have anyone to hang out with that didn’t want to go out and drink until you were sick or shop until you were broke.

Fernando made his way to Stamford Bridge, and when the guard recognized him, he was quickly waved into the underground garage, out of sight of the fans who were milling about.

He parked near the office tower and made his way to the door where the security guard stood. “Evening, Mr. Torres,” he said.

“I’m here to pick up Juan Mata?”

The man beamed at him. “They just got started in the conference room. You want to wait in the lounge and I’ll tell Matty to ring down when they’re through?”

“Thanks,” Fernando said and made his way to the elevator.

The lounge was quiet at this time of evening on a non-game day, and Fernando sat in front of the TV where SkySports news was showing.

“We have breaking news from Stamford Bridge. Apparently a deal has been struck with Valencia for the sale of Juan Mata. Mata arrived here at Stamford Bridge about an hour ago and is in talks with the director over personal terms. I’ve also heard a rumor that Fernando Torres is here as well.”

Fernando started at the mention of his name. God, those people were everywhere.

“Do you think Torres helped seal the deal?”

No I didn’t fucking help anything, he’s just my friend and I told him Chelsea was a good place to play!

“Mr. Torres?”

Fernando looked away from the TV.

“Mr. Mata is finished.”

“So quickly?”

Matty smiled. “They mostly already had it sorted. He’s not a demanding lad.”

Fernando smiled back. “He’s alright.”

“Excellent player. We’re lucky to have him.”

“Yes, we are.”

* * * *

The news came down that the first match of the season was canceled due to the contract disputes with the league, and the whole team was on edge. Mesut knew that he, as much as anyone, he needed to get a match, get his edge back, and shake off the events from the Camp Nou.

“We’ve got to do something,” Sergio said, his leg shaking agitatedly. The team was in the dressing room following Friday training. “Saturday night, instead of the game. What can we do?”

“Not out partying,” Iker said.”

“Of course not, Dad,” came Sergio’s flippant reply. “I know that. We can’t be seen out anyway; it’ll look bad to the fans.”

“Do we get the day off?” Mesut asked, still missing a few details in the team talks because his Spanish wasn’t quite fluent yet.

“Training in the morning,” Sergio said, not even giving him the ‘weren’t you paying attention’ look he gave Cristiano when he asked a similar question.

“We need to do something fun, something for the fans,” Esteban spoke up.

“Like what?” 

Esteban thought for a moment, and then ran his hand through his curly locks and looked shy. “Well, you know...when you were a kid? And you were kicking the ball around in the road, didn’t you always wish that Real Madrid players would turn up and play with you?”

The team began to smile.

“I was always trying to score on _________ (famous keeper) when I played,” Cristiano said with a grin. 

“That would have been cool,” Mesut agreed with a smile. “So, what do you suggest?”

Esteban shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe we split up. Those of us with twitter accounts or facebook accounts go out with those who don’t, and we have a kick around with some kids. Take a few pictures, post it up, maybe take some shirts out to sign and pass out?”

“It could get crazy,” Iker warned.

“So we don’t stick around long,” Esteban said. “But think of the kids. We would completely make their days.”

“I love this,” Sergio grinned. “We are so doing this.”

“But keep it quiet?” Iker said. “No one but us knows, right? We’ll be back home before word really gets out.”

“Yes Dad.”

* * * * 

The ringing of his mobile phone finally brought Guti back to consciousness. Sunlight was streaming into his lounge, and he realized he was lying face down on his couch with no recollection of how he got there.

The phone sang on, and Aitor’s face was smiling up at him.

Oh, fuck, oh fuck, Guti thought as he grabbed it even as his head was splitting with pain and his stomach rolled.

“Hello?”

“Daddy!” Aitor sang at him. “I scored two goals! I scored two goals!”

Guti held his head in his hand. Holy shit. “That’s great, buddy.”

Aitor began to chatter about his game, seemingly unconcerned that his Dad hadn’t called him before the match like he had promised. Guti made all the right noises, promising that he’d get to one of Aitor’s matches soon.

“Are you coming home at the international break in September? I have a match then!”

“Planning on it, buddy.”

Aitor was happy as they hung up and Guti laid back on the couch. 

Scenes from the night before flooded in at Guti. Hanging out on the beach with Simao and Hugo. The casino. The martinis he’d drank. 

That girl!

Guti sat up with a start, looking around to be sure he was alone. There had been that brunette, god he couldn’t even think of her name. Oh god.

A scan of the room and his state of dress reassured him that he’d not brought the girl home with him.

He laid back down with a groan. He was really, really getting too old to be doing this kind of shit any more.

* * * *

Mesut rode along with Sergio as they traveled to a neighborhood on the outskirts of Madrid. Esteban, a careful planner, had taken suggestions from everyone and then drawn up a map of where everyone would go, and assigned the pairs of players. He’d organized those without twitters and those who weren’t fluent Spanish speakers.

“This is gonna be fun,” Sergio said as he pulled through the streets, his pricey Audi already getting some looks in the middle class neighborhood.

Mesut grinned. “You’re like a kid.”

Sergio glanced at him. “In a good way?”

“Sure,” Mesut said as he realized he may have hit a nerve for Sergio. “I mean, you take joy in life and don’t shy away from things because they may not be cool.”

Sergio nodded. “It’s just...someone called me childish a couple weeks ago.”

Mesut wasn’t sure what to say to that. This may have been as serious as a conversation as he’d ever had with the effervescent Spaniard. “Well, some people act too much like stuck up adults.”

“They do, don’t they?” Sergio asked with a grin. 

“You can be a grown up without having to be boring,” Mesut continued. “Or married.”

“Uh oh,” Sergio said, “Who said that to you?”

“My mom,” Mesut sighed.

Sergio pulled his car to the side of the road as he spotted half a dozen kids playing in the street up ahead. “You’re young. Have some fun. Take some time to find the right girl.”

The boys, who were about ten, played on as Sergio and Mesut got out of the car. Sergio pulled a bag of footballs and shirts out of the back and locked the car.

A boy standing on the side, leaning on crutches, spotted them first. His eyes got wide.

“Are you...Sergio Ramos?”

“I might be. What happened?”

“Broke my foot playing football,” the boy lamented.

Sergio dug into the bag and pulled out a Sergio Ramos shirt. “What’s your name?”

“Enrique.”

Sergio signed the shirt ‘get well soon, Enrique, your friend, Sergio Ramos’, and handed it over to the little boy.

“Thanks!”

The other boys had realized what was going on and came scampering over. “Sergio! Sergio! Mesut?!”

Shirts were signed and balls handed out. “You mind if we play a bit with you?” Sergio asked with a grin.

“HE’S ON MY TEAM!” one of the boys who was called Carlos shouted.

“WE GET OZIL!” another boy yelled and the lines were drawn.

The game was friendly but competitive. Sergio’s team was a little better, but Mesut wasn’t one of the world’s best midfielders for nothing. After about half an hour, a little crowd had formed, and Mesut’s team was up 6-4.

Sergio looked at his watch. “We should maybe get going. Can we get a picture, kids?”

The boys protested their departure, but eagerly crowded around so Mesut could take a picture of them with Sergio for his Twitter.

“You too,” Sergio urged, and Mesut reluctantly let him take a picture.

They signed autographs for the assembled crowd and then escaped to the car.

Both of them were sweaty and happy.

“I don’t think I’ve had that much fun in ages,” Mesut was grinning.

Sergio was smiling too. “Some times it’s the little stuff that really make life, good, you know?”

“Yeah. Yeah I do.”

* * * *

There wasn’t a locker open locker next to Fernando in the Cobham dressing room, so Juan took one next to Danny Sturridge. The young Brit smiled at him and welcomed him to the club.

“Thank you,” Juan said, his English far more advanced thatn Fernando’s had been when he came to the club. Fernando knew that now a lot of young Spanish players were learning English just in case they got a move to a club out of Spain. English was most useful in that a lot of people at other clubs in Europe spoke it as well. Even players he knew that had no intention of leaving Spain were learning it.

Fernando waited for Juan to get ready and the two of them walked out to the practice pitch together.

“This place is amazing,” Juan said as he looked around the pristine grounds. Not that Valencia had been training on an old cow pasture or anything, but Chelsea’s grounds oozed money.

“Roman is good to us,” Fernando said.

“Is he around a lot?” 

“He’ll come down to the dressing room after matches. I’ve only seen him here once or twice,” Fernando said.

“Isn’t it strange?”

“That Roman is like one of the richest men in the world?”

“Yeah,” Juan said. “I mean, he just buys up stuff he wants.”

“And people,” Fernando said, knowing full well he’d been one of Roman’s personal choices for the team. “I’m just hoping to get an invite to the yacht. John and Frank say it’s amazing.”

“They’ve been?”

“A couple times,” Fernando said. “Back in the glory days.”

Juan nodded. He knew the kind of pressure players and managers were under at Chelsea. He and Fernando had stayed up late that first night, talking about the club. Fernando had shared his frustrating start, and prayed that fro Juan’s start was much smoother than his own.

“There he is!” John called from the training pitch where most of the team had already assembled. The team broke into applause at Juan’s arrival, and the young Spaniard blushed.

“Thank you,” Juan said, embarrassed.

“Speech!” Dider called out from the crowd and Juan’s eyes went wide.

“He’s kidding,” Fernando told him in Spanish, and Juan breathed in, relieved.

“Ignore him,” John said with a grin. “Though do get ready for your song.

“Song?” Juan looked at Fernando.

Fernando chuckled as he remembered his own, painful experience. “You just have to sing a song for the lads before your first match.”

This horrified Juan even more than the thought of having to make a speech in English. “I don’t sing well!”

“Don’t worry,” Fernando said as he threw an arm around him. “No one else around here particularly does, either.”

* * * *

Day 6

Guti was late to training that day and his head was still pounding. God, when would he learn? The pounding head, the nausea rolling over him in waves. 

Of course the sun shone brightly that day across the Besiktas training grounds. When he came jogging in late, Simao and Hugo were already running with the pack, neither of them looking much worse for the wear.

He ignored the glare from Carlos, the manager, and fell into step with Simao.

“You look like hell,” Simao said with a grin.

“Why don’t you?”

“Some of us didn’t drink half the vodka Russia produced last year. How’s Melina?”

“Who?”

“The girl you ditched us for!”

“I didn’t ditch you! You guys left me!”

Simao laughed. “You told me to fuck off because you were going to hook up with this really hot girl.”

“I did?”

Simao rolled his eyes. “Next time we go out, I’m going to have to keep you on a leash, aren’t I?”

“Next time?” Guti said with a groan.

“Jose!”

Reluctantly, Guti turned and saw the manager holding that fucking clipboard in his hands. Guti slowed and came to a stop in front of him.

“Sorry I was a little late, sir,” Guti said, knowing his ass was toast. “My alarm didn’t go off.”

The manager glared. Guti knew an idiot could tell he was hung over. Even an idiot as big as this one. “You are fined 10,000 euros for being late and breaking club rules by showing up in this state. Go home. You will not be playing in our first match.”

Guti blinked. “Are you kidding?”

“No.”

The manager walked away from him, and Guti was fuming. What the actual fuck? He stormed off the pitch, his anger eclipsing his pain. Who did this mother fucker think he was anyway? It was a fucking Sunday afternoon training session. They didn’t have a match for days, and maybe weeks. How dare he?

Guti slammed back into the dressing room. His anger faded as he slumped down onto the bench. 

“I hate this place,” he told the empty room.

* * * *

Juan stood up on the bench in the locker room amid cat calls and cheers from this new teammates. He could not believe he was doing this, but here went nothing.

“Dale a tu cuerpo alegria Macarena   
Que tu cuerpo es pa' darle alegria cosa buena   
Dale a tu cuerpo alegria, Macarena”

“Hey Macarena!” The rest of the team joined in the chorus.

His face was flushed red from embarrassment, but he continued on, the rest of the team up and dancing by the time he finished the song.

“Whooo!” the team cheered and applauded him even as wanted to die.

“That was epic,” Fernando grinned as he gave Mata a hug. “I bet the national team lads will love to see that.”

“Wait, what?” Juan asked, his eyes wide.

Fernando held up his phone and Juan lunged for him. “DELETE THAT!”

“Nope!” Fernando danced away as John called them to get lined up for the match.

Juan was on the bench, and grudgingly headed out to the pitch. Fernando watched him go, locking his mobile in his locker.

The Stamford Bridge crowd was in good voice as the team emerged. Fernando took a deep breath. Good match. He was going to have a good match. 

Norwich. Where was that, anyway? Fernando wondered as the team did the hand shaking thing. 

Right, lining up with Drogba. This worked in training. Fuck the media. They would make this work.

But they struggled. Despite Bosingwa’s stellar early goal, the team couldn’t find a rhythm. A great pass wasn’t picked up, a ready striker didn’t get the ball he needed. 

And in the fifty-seventh minute, Norwich equalized.

Fernando deflated. God, he should score. Why couldn’t he fucking score!

Soon, Mata was subbed in for Malouda. Fernando grinned at his friend. Okay, they were in this. They could do this.

The team fought back, but nothing came of it. 

Then it happened. Fernando was watching Drogba make his way into the box. Didier collided with the keeper and fell to the ground with a sickening thump.

Oh, god, Fernando thought. That was, that was...

The medics were on in a moment, surrounding him. Fernando made his way over. He didn’t want to see, but he had to. Didier had to be okay. He had to.

The looks on the players faces were grim. Didier was unconscious. That wasn’t good, that wasn’t.

“He’ll be okay,” Juan murmured to Fernando. “He’s got a hard head.”

Fernando smiled slightly. “That he does.”

Drogba was stretched off, and a fiery resolve filled the team. They would win this for Didier.

Ramires was taken down in the 80th minute, and Frank converted the penalty. 2-1. 

Fernando was taken off, and considering the worthless game he’d had, he wasn’t surprised. He had sucked. Again. Continually. Without end.

Mata scored near the end of the match which brought Fernando to his feet, elated. Maybe he did suck, and maybe this game had been a nightmare, but Juan was going to fit right in, and that was something to celebrate.

 

 

Day 7

Real Madrid was flying high. The first win had been a decisive 6-0. Sure, it was at home versus a team they should beat with their eyes closed and Cristiano Ronaldo tied behind their backs, but the team was on a high.

“This is so the year,” Iker was saying to no one in particular. “We are winning La Liga this season. I know it.”

“One win, and he’s lifting a trophy,” Sergio teased as he leaned over to kiss Iker on the cheek.

Iker smiled at him shyly, and whispered something in his ear. Sergio grinned and kissed him again, this time with a little more meaning.

Mesut watched this from across the room, and felt a flare of jealousy in him. He tried to fight it back, concentrating on tying his shoes . He couldn’t deny to himself any longer that he was sexually attracted to Sergio. For a while, he’d had himself convinced it had just be the flair of the beautiful man. Sergio took in everyone, never left anyone out, made everyone feel special. Mesut wasn’t dumb enough to think that Sergio felt anything special for him. The only girls who’d ever been attracted to him were for his money and his fame. The thought that someone as special as Sergio, who could literally have anyone, even San Iker Casillas, would ever want Mesut was stupid.

Despite that, Mesut knew the attraction was real. Being close to Sergio turned him on in a way he’d never felt before. No woman had ever set his body on fire like that. 

With a sigh, he threw the last of his kit in his bag. Great. Gay and attracted to a completely unattainable man.

“You okay?”

Mesut started as he’d had no idea Sami was standing nearby. He was giving Mesut a look of concern, and Mesut wanted to cry.

“I’m great. Great match, huh?”

Sami wasn’t buying it for a moment. “You want to get some dinner? I think Pepe, Marcelo, and Cristiano are going out? Said we could come with?”

Mesut shook his head quickly as he dug into his jeans for his car keys. “No thanks. Early flight to Berlin.”

“Sure,” Sami said even as he frowned. “Are you…”

“Sami, I’m fine,” Mesut snapped and stormed out of the dressing room, leaving a confused and hurt Sami behind him.

 

September International Break:

 

“Augh! Guti is in town! IKER!” Sergio jumped up and down in the team dining room. “After Friday’s match, he wants us to come over, PLEASE!!!”

The team laughed at Sergio, and at Iker’s reaction.

“We have training Saturday.”

“Come on, we won’t get too wild! I never get to see Guti any more! Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had a chance to raid his closet?”

“We noticed!” Pepe called out. “You’ve finally started dressing like you had some style.”

“Shut up,” Sergio laughed as he ran his hand through his hair. “Iker….!”

“You can do what you like, you’re a big boy,” Iker said. “I’m going to get some sleep.”

“You are half dead,” Sergio dismissed him. “Who else?”

There were several players who spoke up, mostly the Madrid boys, but Sergio got Pique to agree as well. As he worked his way around the room, he finally came to the table where Fernando was sitting with Juan and Xabi.

Fernando couldn’t meet his eyes. Yes, he’d love to go to Guti’s. God, wild nights at Guti’s, when he’d been eighteen, barely aware of anything, and how Guti and Sergio had made him feel so…

“Nando?” Sergio asked, his hair brushing Fernando’s cheek. “Guti wants you to come.”

Fernando swallowed hard. God, why wasn’t he eighteen again? When things were so easy and good. Before responsibility weighed him down.

Xabi looked across the table at him. “Come on, Nando, Juan and I will both go. Keep you in line.”

Xabi’s words were easy and teasing, but when Fernando met his eyes, he realized his friend knew what was in his head. Xabi would be his conscience if he needed it.

“Sure.”

“Yes!” Sergio cheered as he moved on, seeing who else he could talk into the party.

Juan looked at Fernando. “I’ve never met Guti.”

“You’ve never met Guti!” Xabi announced loudly. “Oh then you are so coming with us. Nando. Tell him he has to come.”

Fernando laughed at the wide eyed look on Juan’s young face. “You so have to come.”

* * * *

Germany won their match against __________ to officially qualify for the Euros. Not that anyone was actually worried in that they were favorites this time alongside Spain. They had far out done themselves in Africa, and the feeling among the squad was that they had gelled so much better now. The young players were coming good, and the veterans still had something to offer.

Mesut was in a good mood. Being out of Spain had let him shake off the feelings that had threatened to drown him. The team met in a pub someone’s uncle owned, and the beers were flowing.

“Man,” Sami said, leaning into Mesut on a bench at the edge of the room. “Football is amazing, you know that?”

Mesut laughed. “It kinda is, yeah.”

“We play for such amazing teams. An amazing country. We are so lucky.”

“We are,” Mesut agreed. “Drunk much, Sami?”

“Nah,” Sami said as he waved a drunken hand. “If I was drunk, I’d be coming on to that barmaid.”

“The one Philipp is all over?”

“He’s married. He won’t do any more than flirt. Now, I could take her home, right?”

“Sami!” Mesut laughed. Sami was not the kind who had one night stands as far as Mesut knew.

“I just want some sex, you know!”

“I know,” Mesut shook his head. “I could use some too.”

“Right. We need some girls!”

“Sami!” Mesut protested loudly. “I don’t want girls!”

“You don’t?” Sami asked, a strange look came over his face. 

Mesut froze, even though his drunken haze, realizing what he’d said was wrong. Footballers didn’t admit to liking guys, even if they did. Hadn’t Philipp written half his autobiography protesting how he wasn’t gay? “I mean…I…”

Sami leaned in. “You can tell me, Mesut.”

“Tell you what?” Mesut said and his voice cracked. “There’s nothing to tell you. Just because I guy doesn’t want to bang some skanky ho doesn’t mean anything about him other than he doesn’t like to do that. Besides, it’s against my religion. Muslims don’t do that kind of thing. We don’t believe in casual sex.”

Sami raised an eyebrow. He knew Mesut believed, but he also knew that Mesut had been known bend the rules from time to time, hence the beer in his hand.

“I like girls fine!” Mesut shouted, and the pub grew quiet.

With a flaming red race, Mesut all but ran out of the pub. Everyone was looking at him. Everyone knew he liked guys and they were going to hate him.

* * * *

“Sergio Ramos, you gorgeous mother fucker!”

Guti greeted his old friend at the door and wrapped himself around his favorite protégé. He’d had a couple of drinks already, and he closed his eyes, taking in the familiar smell of the young man.

When he opened his eyes, he found himself staring at a very self conscious looking Fernando Torres. He grinned at him. “Well, hello there.”

“Hi,” Fernando said, not meeting his eyes. “Do you know Juan Mata?”

“I’m know who he is,” Guti said as he disengaged from Sergio and turned to the curly haired, blue-eyed, tasty kid. “It’s nice to meet you.”

The predatory way Guti looked over Juan made Fernando jealous. Then he felt guilty that he felt jealous. He didn’t want Guti.

He couldn’t have Guti. Or Sergio. Or anyone.

He could have his beautiful wife and two kids. He didn’t need any more than that.

While Fernando was justifying all of this to himself, Guti had taken Juan’s arm and was leading him to the bar. Sergio had walked away from him, and Fernando was standing in the doorway like an idiot.

With a sigh, Fernando moved into the house. It was the same as Fernando remembered it. Pristinely decorated in white with few personal touches in the public spaces. He knew that downstairs in the game room, Guti kept his football memorabilia. 

Fernando wandered down that way where most everyone had congregated. About half the crowd were Spanish National Team players, along with a couple of spare Real Madrid players who hadn’t gotten called up for various reasons, as well as people Fernando didn’t know. He assumed them to be music people Guti liked to hang out with.

He wandered around the room, not wanting to start drinking because he knew when he started drinking he let himself be talked into things he knew he shouldn’t do.

He looked over the football trophies that lined Guti’s house. He felt a pang of jealousy. Guti had La Liga titles as well as Champions League medals. What did Fernando have to show for his years of club football? One second division title at Atheltico Madrid. Yes, he had a European Championship and a World Cup, but he was constantly reminded of how little he had to do with Spain securing the World Cup.

Overrated. Overpriced.

“You’re thinking way too much for a Friday night party at Guti’s,” Xabi said and pressed a cold beer into his hand.

Fernando laughed at himself. “I always get myself into trouble at Guti’s parties.”

Xabi nodded. “I know what you mean. I think I’m a little too old for Guti’s parties any more.”

“How about we make a deal,” Fernando suggested and took a drink of the cold liquid, enjoying how it settled in his nervous stomach. “We’ll be each other’s consciouses tonight?”

“I won’t let you do anything you’ll regret with Sergio and you won’t let me do anything I’ll regret with anyone else?”

Fernando nodded. Xabi knew him too well. Had sat next to him on the plane back to Liverpool too many times, full of self hatred.

“Agreed,” Xabi said. Fernando knew that Xabi too had struggled with fidelity. But ever since he’d left Liverpool, Xabi had been faithful to his wife as far as Fernando knew. Xabi hadn’t been with Steven, anyway, as Fernando had spent a year at Liverpool watching Steven self-destruct after Xabi left, both personally and professionally.

It had been a lot of the reason Fernando had decided he wasn’t going to sleep with Sergio any more. Why he couldn’t. Too many people got hurt.

Xabi and Fernando made their way to a couch to join in a conversation with Alvaro and Raul who lay half on top of one another. Fernando didn’t judge. He knew his glass house already had a lot of cracks in the panes.

The two were discussing how badly they wanted to beat out Barcelona for the La Liga title this year.

Fernando realized how few of the men in the room actually could say they had a league title to their name. Gerard Pique leaned on the bar, with his hand down the back of Cesc Fabregas’s jeans, thinking that no one noticed, was about the only one who could claim league honors.

In a room full of some of the best footballers in the world, Fernando was hardly alone in feeling there was much left to accomplish.

He felt a little better, beer warm in him, Xabi at his side, and became more animated joining in the discussions and laughing at the jokes of his friends.

* * * *

Mesut crashed into the hotel room he was sharing with Smai and threw himself onto the bed, tears streaming dowh his face. Why him? Why did it have to be him? Why couldn't he be normal like his brother and sisters and like the people he was supposed to like and marry the people he was supposed to marry and have the kids and make everyone happy? Why was he the freak?

He sobbed into his pillow. And now everyone knew. Everyone knew and he was going to get ostracised on the team. The media would have a field day with it. His family was going to be so disappointed.

"Mes?"

With a start, Mesut realized Sami had followed him. "Go away."

"Mes, what's wrong?" Sami asked, his features full of concern. "Are you okay?"

Mesut shook his head as he curled in on himself. "Are they all laughing at me?"

"Laughing at you?" Sami asked. "Why would they be laughing at you?"

"Because I'm a freak!"

"Mesut, what are you talking about?" Sami's confusion was real. "You got a weird about hitting on that girl and then ran out of the pub. What's up?"

Mesut looked up a Sami and sniffled. "You mean...?"

"What is going on?" Sami asked as he sat on the edge of Mesut's bed. "Are you okay?"

Mesut shook his head again. "No."

"Do you want to talk about it?" 

"No," Mesut said as he realized that no one knew he was gay. His secret was safe. He took a deep breath. "Really no."

Sami frowned. "Are you sure? You know you can trust me, right?"

Mesut looked at his friend. Probably his best friend in the world. But would Sami understand. Really? Maybe he would say the right words and keep his secret, but wouldn't Sami be always looking at him differently from now on? Wondering if Mesut was looking at him? Wondering if Mesut liked him in that way?

"I know," Mesut murmured. "But I don't want to talk about it."

"Okay," Sami said, and the hurt showed on his face. "Well...do you want to go back to the pub?"

"No. You go on. Hit on that girl."

A smile cracked on Sami's face. "Right."

Mesut smiled back and buried his face in his pillow again. 

No one could ever know.

* * * *

Several beers into the evening, Fernando spotted Juan on one of the couches in the darker corner of the room, pressed in between Sergio and Guti. Guti was whispering in his ear and Sergio’s hand was working up his thigh. Juan’s eyes were closed tightly, and for a moment, Fernando was afraid Juan was being talking into something he didn’t want to do.

Fernando made his way over, determined not to make a scene, and stopped in front of them, accidentally kicking Guti’s leg.

“Hey.”

Juan’s eyes flew open, and he looked grateful to see Fernando despite the hard on in his pants.

“Nando!” Juan reached for Fernando’s hand, and he was pulled clumsily down onto the couch and into Guti’s lap.

“Well hi,” Guti breathed on Fernando’s neck as an arm snaked around him.

“Hi,” Fernando said, wriggling out of Guti’s lap and into a space between Juan and Guti.

Sergio had a pout on his face. “Don’t you want to sit with me, baby?”

“I was just coming to check on Juan!” Fernando chirped, leaning on Juan and keeping his hands in his lap.

“Juan was just getting to know us a little better,” Guti purred into his ear.

“You okay?” Fernando murmured to Juan.

Juan nodded. “Yeah.”

“You sure?”

“Don’t you all look so sweet all curled up there!” giggled Gerard as he stumbled past, sweaty and half naked. Fernando wondered where Cesc was. “Lemme get a picture.”

“No,” Fernando said quickly.

“Come on,” Gerard said and grabbed Fernando’s phone. “You want to remember this.”

Fernando closed his eyes. Guti wrapped himself around Fernando, and he could feel Guti’s cock pressed into his back. Sergio’s hand snaked across Juan onto Fernando’s thigh. Fernando’s heart rate increased as desire coursed through him.

“Dammit, Nando, don’t you have Twitter?”

“No,” Fernando grabbed for the phone.

“Here, I’ll send it to myself.” Gerard fumbled drunkenly with the phone.

“Nando!” 

Fernando opened his eyes and gratefully saw Xabi heading toward him. 

“You know you promised to get me home by 3 am,” Xabi said. “The wife has such a fit if I’m out too late.”

“You are so whipped!” Sergio declared as Fernando disengaged himself and let Xabi pull him away. His eyes never fell on Fernando.

“Fuck, I deleted it,” Gerard grumbled at Fernando’s phone as it was pulled from his hands.

Fernando pulled against Xabi and turned to Juan. “You want to come with us?”

Juan looked at Fernando as Guti worked his way back up against him. Guti nibbled his ear lobe rather deftly for the state of his drunkenness. 

Juan shook his head. “I’m okay.”

Fernando nodded. There was no reason Juan shouldn’t. He was single. He was unattached. He could have all of the things Fernando had given up.

Xabi slid an arm through Fernando’s as he pulled him out of the room. “You are going to get yourself in so much trouble.”

“I was just checking on Juan,” Fernando defended himself. It had been the reason he’d gone over.

“And yet Guti had his cock half up your ass.”

Fernando sighed as he felt guilty. He hadn’t done it. He wasn’t going to, he insisted to himself. He would have walked away. “Thank you,” he quietly told Xabi as they reached the door.

Xabi hugged his arm as he got out his phone to call a cab. “I know it’s hard. But it’s called being a responsible adult.”

“And who decided we were supposed to be those?”

 

Day 8

Mesut and Sami were sent back to Madrid following the victory, as Jose held a lot of sway with national team managers, and requested that his players get breaks if they weren’t ‘essential’ to up coming matches. Mesut didn’t mind so much as his spot on the national team was secure, but he knew it bothered Sami some. 

Not that Mesut was talking to Sami right now. He couldn’t even look at his friend. He felt awful about the way he’d treated him. Of all people, Sami would understand. Hell, Sami had even teased him about being attracted to Sergio. He was probably just being polite by letting Mesut pretend that there was nothing wrong.

They trained in silence the day after they got back. The reserves they trained with gave them wide berth, as even the youngsters could sense the tension.

“Are you ever going to talk to me again?” Sami asked, sounding more weary than tired as they changed after training. Mesut had lingered, not wanting to face anyone, but Sami held back as well, and now that they were alone, spoke up.

Mesut looked at him. He wanted to trust Sami, but he didn’t know how. 

“For fuck’s sake, Mesut, I know already. And I’m not going to say anything to anyone, alright?”

“You know?”

Sami looked around and sat next to Mesut. In a low voice, he said, “You’re gay, alright?”

Mesut’s eyes got impossibly wide. “I’m not!”

Sami gave him one of those ‘don’t even try to bullshit me’ looks that only your best friend could give you.

Mesut looked down at his hands, his eyes filling with tears. “Are you going to get all weird on me, now?”

“Me get weird?” Sami asked indignantly. “You got weird long before I could!”

“I…” Mesut started to defend himself, but he knew it was true. “I don’t want anyone to know, okay? You know some of those guys…guys on the team…they would be so awful.”

Sami sighed. He wanted to tell his friend it wouldn’t be like that, but he’d spent his whole life in football dressing rooms, the same as Mesut had. He couldn’t let on at all. 

Sami put his arm around Mesut. “Well, it’s okay by me, right?”

Mesut leaned into Sami. “Thank you.”

Sami laid his head on the top of Mesut’s head and sighed, wanting to make it better for Mesut. “It might not be awful. I mean, we all know Sergio goes both ways, and no one really minds.”

“But he’s Sergio, you know? I’d just be that queer German kid.”

“Well, I always thought you were a little strange.”

With a laugh, Mesut pushed against Sami. “Hey!”

“I mean, really. What is with these trainers you keep wearing? Could you be any stranger?”

“Shut up!” Mesut pushed him again, but he was laughing for the first time in days.

“Come on. I’ll treat you to a new pair or weird trainers,” Sami said as he got up.

“Thank you,” Mesut said as he wiped his eyes. 

“It’s nothing,” Sami said, even though they both knew it was everything.

* * * *

Fernando fell to his knees on the Old Trafford pitch. He buried his face in the perfect grass and wondered if maybe he could just disappear from the face of the earth this very minute.

“Come on.”

Fernando looked up and saw David de Gea standing over him, ball in hand. 

David had a sympathetic look on his face, but Fernando didn’t feel any better. How the fuck had he actually missed that? He could have scored into an open goal. Drawn his team back into this game. been a hero instead of a fucking waste of space on the pitch.

“Get your head back in it,” Lampard ordered as he ran past, heading back into the fray.

But something in the team had deflated in that miss. They never got their groove back, and as the clock ticked down, it was clear that they had been bested by Manchester United.

Again.

The final whistle blessedly blew, and Fernando disappeared into the dressing room as fast as he could. He wanted to disappear off the face of the earth. He couldn’t look anyone in the eye.

Stupid. Over rated. Over priced. Over paid.

“We’re better than this!” John swore as he stormed into the dressing room. “We fucking out played them. How did we lose?”

Fernando held his head in his hands. He knew why they had lost. He knew he was to blame. He knew…

“It wasn’t your fault,” Juan said. He sat next to Fernando as the rest of the team swore and slammed things around.

“I should have scored!”

“There were ten other players on the pitch, Nando. None of them scored either. You at least got one.”

Fernando let out a mirthless chuckle. “Lot of good that did.”

Juan gave up trying to console Fernando and stripped off his kit to get in the shower. Fernando dug in his bag for his phone, not wanted to talk to anyone. 

But as he sorted through the stuff, he couldn’t find it. His iPad was in there, and he was trying to think of the last time he’d seen it. He’d Skyped with Olalla and the kids last night at the hotel, but….

On the kitchen counter. He’d left his phone on the kitchen counter even after Olalla had told him repeatedly to pick it up.

“Can I borrow your phone?” he asked Juan. “I forgot mine and I need to text my wife.”

“Sure,” Juan said, handing over his phone. 

He sent Olalla a quick text, telling her he’d forgotten the phone and that he loved her. 

With a resigned sigh, Fernando wondered if this day could get any worse.

* * * *

Guti was getting fed up with life at Besiktas. The new manager hated him. Not that this was particularly anything new in Guti’s life. So many managers had been through Real Madrid in his twenty-five years at the club that it actually surprised him more when a manager actually liked him.

But in that he’d come to Besiktas because he liked the old manager, it made it even harder to deal with the fact that he’d been marginalized under the new manager made it even harder.

He’d been dealing with various muscle issues as well, and Guti knew his age was to blame. Never mind he wasn’t exactly following the new fitness and diet regime he’d been given. He was tired of people analyzing every minute of his life.

“I’m quitting at the end of my contract,” he told his friend Wally Lopez who’d come to visit him in Istanbul that September. 

“Guti? Quitting football?” Wally looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “Who is Guti if he’s not a footballer?”

Guti looked at him. He was a lot of things. He was a father. He was…

Wally looked at him. “I mean, you know I love you, but you can’t handle it that you haven’t played a match in weeks. What are you going to do when you aren’t playing at all any more?”

“I’ll be back in Madrid,” Guti said. “And spending a lot more time with the kids.”

“So you do the school run. And then what? You’re running out of skin for tattoos there, mate.”

“I don’t know!” Guti said, getting up and starting to pace. “I’m a fucking waste of space without football!”

“You are not, you drama queen,” Wally said with a laugh. “Could you, I dunno, manage a football club or something?”

It was Guti’s turn to laugh. “Can you actually see me having the patience for something like that?”

Wally shrugged. “What do I know about football. I know music.”

Guti sat down. Music. He’d dabbled in managing a band a couple of years ago, and he was actually not that bad at it. The band was decent, but he really hadn’t had the time to work with them as much as he wanted to, and had passed off the work to producers and other people who knew more about the business.

“I see the hamster running in the wheel of your brain Guti.”

But Guti didn’t reply to the teasing. He was too busy thinking.

* * * *  
It was late Sunday night when Fernando got home from the match. There were suitcases by the door, and for a moment, he was wondering what he’d forgotten. Was someone visiting? Were they supposed to be going somewhere?

Fernando walked into the house, not wanting to call out as he didn’t want to wake the sleeping kids. He found Olalla sat at the kitchen table, eyes red from crying.

“Baby what’s wrong?” Fernando asked. He moved toward her as he wanted to comfort her, but in a flash, he realized she was angry with him.

She held out his phone. “You want to explain this to me?”

With wide, confused eyes, Fernando took the phone. What was possibly….?

His heart sank. It was the picture Gerard had taken at Guti’s that night. The one he said he’d deleted. Of him and Guti and Sergio and Juan. It looked as bad as he’d thought it did. 

“Baby, I can explain…”

“You said you weren’t going to do that crap any more. You said it was all over. You were done with Sergio. You never even talked to Guti any more.” Her voice was low and dangerous. She was angrier than she’d ever seen him before.

“Nothing happened,” Fernando pleaded even as deep down he knew he was hardly blameless. “Nothing happened that night.”

“I said I would leave you,” she said quietly. “I said I wasn’t going to be one of those idiot wives of professional athletes that put up with this shit. You promised me this was all over.”

“I know. And nothing happened. They were all messing around and I was trying to get Juan away from Guti and Sergio and…” he trailed off as she was giving him a look.

She thought he thought she was an idiot. That he was feeding her some line of bullshit. And he was guilty enough from too many other things to keep going.

Because she was right. She had trusted him and he had betrayed that trust.

With tears in his eyes he said. “I’m sorry.”

“I can’t live like this, Fernando. I don’t trust you any more, and I can’t live like this.”

“What are you going to do?” he asked, afraid of her answer.

“I’m leaving you,” she said. “I’m taking the kids and going back to Spain.”

“But…” Fernando said, pleaded.

“I won’t keep you from seeing the kids. We can work something out later. But right now I need to go home to my family.”

Tears dripped down Fernando’s face. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

“It doesn’t matter what you wanted. You did it,” she said. With an eerie calm, she got up from the table.

Fernando wanted her to yell at him. To scream and call him a bastard. To throw things and hit him. Anything but this dead look in her eyes that said he’d gone and ruined both of their lives over some cheap, meaningless thrill cut him right to the bone.

She went upstairs to bed, leaving him to lie on the couch, unable to sleep.

And in the morning, when she packed up his whole life in two car seats, small faces smiling and waving goodbye, unaware of what had gone on, Fernando’s heart broke.

For the first time in his entire career. he called his manager and made up a lie about being sick and not making it into training. Then he went upstairs to the guest room and cried himself to sleep.

 

Day 9

Real Madrid struggled a little after the international break as they lost to Levante and only managed a draw with Racing Santander. The team had struggled the season before and had started to get down on themselves.

But that was last season. New manager the team wasn’t entirely sure of yet. New captain who wasn’t entirely sure of himself yet, and new players who were afraid to speak up and be heard. 

This season, there was a spirit to the team that responded to these poor results with a positive energy.

Mesut could feel it was different. This was the team who’d taken their free weekend to make the day of a bunch of school kids. This was the team who was going to go all the way.

Training the week after the Santander draw was focused, and the team was prepared for their next challenge.

“Mesu! Are you coming over to my house later to watch a movie?” Sergio asked.

Mesut’s stomach lurched as Sergio ruffled his hair.

“I thought we were supposed to have an early night,” Mesut said, just having listened to a lecture from Jose about their preparedness for this weekend’s match against cross town rivals Getafe.

“Yeah, but a movie at my house is hardly a night out. Besides, you live next door. You’re practically home anyway.” Sergio was giving him that smile and Mesut melted. He’d have run off to Paris with Sergio if he’d asked.

“Sure,” Mesut agreed.

Mesut turned back to his locker to find his deodorant, and Sami caught his eye.

“Movie night with Sergio?” Sami asked.

“What? We’ll just watch some old James Bond movie and turn in early.”

“Is that why you’ve gone all pink?” Sami said. His tone was teasing, but Mesut knew what Sami was implying. Sure, it was just a movie night to Sergio, but Mesut didn’t see it that way.

“Just, be careful,” Sami said.

“I will!” Mesut protested and felt slightly annoyed. He knew he had to play it safe. Even though everyone knew how Sergio was, and looked the other way when Sergio got friendly with Iker, they might not be as sympathetic to Mesut.

But nothing was going to happen, Mesut told himself. Being gay was one thing. Acting on it was a completely different idea.

* * * *

Guti’s life started to come into focus as he began thinking about his plan for life after football. Yes, he did want to focus on his kids, but really, after 10 years of having half a dad due to his work schedule and the divorce, did they really want him involved in every corner of their lives?

Music seemed to be where he wanted to be. He’d enjoyed managing that band. He and Wally could talk for hours about tracks and new sounds. Guti had never been particularly musical himself, a couple of charity tracks aside, he knew he didn’t really have the voice for it. But could he produce?

“What’s got into you?” Simao asked one day at training, which Guti had come to regard as his fitness regime rather than leading to any actual playing time.

“What do you mean?” Guti asked as he put away his iPod. He was going to have to ask Wally about that group. He was pretty sure he’d seen them in Ibiza this summer. They definitely had some potential.

“You,” Simao smiled at him. “You seem a lot happier.”

Guti shrugged. “I’m never getting a chance with this manager. I have a contract I have to fulfill. But it doesn’t mean I have to let him control me.”

“Come on. You’re fit again- he’ll see you’re serious about this.”

“Really?” Guti gave him a look.

Simao shrugged. “He might.”

Guti pulled on his boots. “I’ve spent my entire adult life catering to the whims of managers who don’t like me. I’m done.”

Simao didn’t comment for a moment as he waited for Guti to finish getting ready. Guti got up and they headed out to the training pitch.

“So you’re giving up,” Simao finally said.

Guti shrugged. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”

“But don’t you want to fight? I mean, you know some of this is your fault right?”

Guti chuckled. “Yeah. I know. Guti has a bad attitude, Guti doesn’t do what he’s told. Guti parties too much.”

“Guti needs to quit talking about himself in the third person.”

Guti elbowed Simao who laughed. “Guti is tired of it all. People keep trying to change me. It doesn’t work. Ask my ex wife.”

Simao shook his head. “You’ve still got a lot to give. You’re not out of the game yet.”

Guti shrugged. “I think I am.”

* * * *

Fernando turned up to training the day after his wife left him and trained harder than he ever had in his life. He wasn’t unfriendly to his teammates, but neither did he engage them in conversation. He listened to the manager and focused on his football.

“Goddamn,” he heard John mutter after Fernando blasted past him to score for the fifth time in a thirty minute game.

Fernando pushed his hair behind his ear and lined back up to start again. Yes. He could do this. He was still good at this. He was fucking good at this.

“Enough!” Andre called and blew his whistle. “I don’t think our defenders need any more abuse from Torres today!”

Everyone laughed because they knew what Fernando finding his form meant for the rest of them.

Fernando smiled half heartedly and was the first one headed back to the dressing room. Not that he wanted to get home any time soon.

Didn’t want to go back to that empty house. The silent bedrooms.

 

Day 10

“You okay?” Juan asked as he caught up with Fernando in the dressing room.

“Fine,” Fernando said shortly as he began to shed his practice kit.

“You don’t seem fine,” Juan said, a worried look on his friendly features.

Fernando sighed. “My wife left me, alright?”

“What...why?” Juan stammered. Fernando and Olalla were so good. Everyone said.

“She found that picture Gerard took.”

“Oh, god. Nando! You didn’t do anything! Do you want me to tell her? You and Xabi left long before anything really sorrid got going on.”

They were attracting the attention of some of the other players who’d started to trickle in, and Fernando lowered his voice. “Thanks, but I don’t think it really matters.”

“Oh,” Juan said quietly. “You wanna come hang out with me this afternoon?”

Fernando didn’t want to seem needy, but the thought of not having to go home to more unanswered phone calls was too tempting. “Sure.”

“Actually, I was gonna go, uh...see Big Ben and stuff...” Juan looked a little embarrassed.

“You want to go sight seeing?” Fernando grinned. 

“Don’t laugh! I just got here, you know. Except I don’t know how to get to those places.”

“It’s best if you take the tube,” Fernando said, though he’d only been on the London Underground once, and got lost.

“Sure, okay,” Juan said. “Where’s there a station?”

“I have no idea,” Fernando said. “Lamps, where’s there a tube station?”

Frank blinked at them. “None real close here. You have to get a train in.”

“How do we do that?” Juan asked.

Various advice from most of the squad along with three new apps on their phones, and Fernando and Juan were ready to tackle a trip into Central London. They drove to the end of the tube line where they bought travel cards. Fernando had grown up taking the trains in Madrid, so once they settled on the train, he felt in familiar territory.

Most everyone ignored them as they rode into the city. The chatter was light between them, sharing stories of being young in Madrid and laughing about silly things they missed from Spain.

They checked out Big Ben and Juan took lots of pictures to upload onto his facebook. Fernando stayed out of them, offering to be the cameraman. Some Chelsea fans recognized them, and Juan was more than happy to pose for pictures. Fernando signed a couple of autographs before they escaped to ride on the London Eye.

“Olalla and I always meant to do this,” Fernando said as he gazed down across the quiet calm of the city, so deceptively peaceful when seen from above.

Juan was quiet, not wanting to press.

“But we were so busy with the kids and everything. And she hated going out in public when I’d get recognized. We hardly ever got a chance to go out in London.”

“She’ll be back,” Juan said, unwilling to imagine a world where Fernando and Olalla couldn’t make it work.

“I don’t know,” Fernando said. “I really fucked it up this time. I don’t deserve her.”

“Oh, don’t say that,” Juan said. “You love her, right?”

“I do,” Fernando said as he focused on the sky line to try to keep himself from crying again. “Her and the kids.”

“Then give her a chance to cool down. She’s angry and she’s hurt. But when she calms down, try to talk to her again. And for the love of god, stop hanging out with Sergio!”

Fernando sighed. “It’s not Sergio’s fault.”

“Well, it’s not all Sergio’s fault,” Juan said. “The man could get a nun pregnant by smiling at her.”

Fernando snorted. “I don’t doubt it.”

“She loves you. And those kids need you. She’ll come around.”

* * * *

Guti walked into training one sunny Friday morning, and knew something was up. He stepped into the dressing room where everyone was huddled in groups, talking in low voices.

“What’s up?” Guti asked Simao who was talking quietly to Hugo.

“Don’t you look at your phone?” Simao rolled his eyes.

“It was dead this morning,” Guti said as he pulled it out of his bag along with the charger. He’d been listening to music late into the night on it, and it had died after he’d fallen asleep in the middle of the new ColdPlay album.

“The entire coaching staff has been sacked effective immediately,” Hugo said, effectively gaining Guti’s full attention.

“What?” Guti said, eyes wide. Sure, he’d seen dozens of managers sacked through his years at Real Madrid, but usually there was some warning it was coming. “What happened?”

“Apparently Carlos had some kind of shady dealings going on. He was laundering money through the club and embezzling on top of it all. The whole staff was getting kick backs on it.”

“You are kidding me,” Guti said, unable to believe it. “How did they catch him?”

“No idea. It’s a right mess,” Simao said, rather relishing the gossip.

“Now we have no manager and a Europa League match coming up,” Guti said, knowing that the team was struggling in the group stages and was in danger of not making it to the knock-out rounds.

“We’re fucked,” Hugo agreed.

Suddenly, Guti knew what he needed to do. The team was milling about, no one looking like they were getting ready for training anymore than half heartedly. They were likely going to be told to shove off anyway while the club tried to sort itself out.

“Hey guys,” Guti said, and the room quieted. “I think we need to get out to training.”

“Who’s going to run it?” ________ asked, looking belligerent.

“I am,” Guti said. “I’m still captain. On paper anyway. Maybe it’s time I stepped up to the job.”

* * * *

One evening hanging out with Sergio started to turn in to every evening that week over at Sergio’s. Whenever the team wasn’t busy with other things, Mesut could be found in Sergio’s kitchen, on his sofa, talking, laughing, and generally just being in the vicinity of Sergio.

Mesut was heady with the excitement of being around Sergio. Chemical attraction aside, he found Sergio so interesting to be around. He knew something about everything. Sergio could go on for hours about bullfighting, tennis, or music. He had a passion for every flavor of life that made Mesut wide-eyed and worshipful.

Sami was full of looks of disapproval, but had learned to not speak up on the subject. Occasionally he would join the pair, but soon realized he wasn’t really wanted.

One evening, Mesut sat on Sergio’s couch, holding a glass of Sergio’s new favorite wine, and realized that Sergio never went out in the evenings any more.

“You used to go out dancing,” Mesut observed as Sergio joined him on the couch and turned on the DVD player.

Sergio shrugged. “Not much in to going out these days.”

“Then how are you going to meet any nice young women?” Mesut said, using the words his mother always told him.

“There aren’t any nice young women!” Sergio lamented, but his expressive face betrayed something darker. “I just haven’t felt like going out.”

“Sergio Ramos doesn’t want to go out and hook up?” Mesut said, but realized that wasn’t the right thing to say. “What happened?”

“It’s nothing,” Sergio said with a dismissive shake of the head as he focused on the opening credits of the latest X-men movie.

Mesut looked at him. “Tell me.” His heart was racing. Did he and Sergio really have the kind of relationship where Sergio would confide in him. And maybe Mesut was hoping that Sergio would turn to him and declare that he didn’t want to go out and hook up with any bimbos because he was in love with Mesut but feared that Mesut wouldn’t return his feelings. That he knew it might ruin their friendship to admit it, but that he needed to know if Mesut felt the same way…

“Fernando Torres’s wife left him.”

Mesut wasn’t sure he’d heard Sergio correctly as he was half way to imagining their first, passionate kiss. “What?”

“Fernando Torres,” Sergio said quietly. “His wife left him. Because of me.”

“Oh,” Mesut said as his mind raced. Sergio and Fernando had been lovers? Fernando cheated on his wife and now he blamed Sergio?

All fantasy drained out of Mesut as he realized that Sergio was actually really upset by this situation. He’d ruined a marriage.

“He said he didn’t want to see me any more. I respect that, I mean, he’s trying really hard to be a good husband and a father, and I just didn’t respect that,” Sergio’s eyes grew wet as he talked. “But I keep pressuring him. Making him want me like I know he does. Like I want him.”

“You didn’t force…” 

“No, no, nothing like that!” Sergio said. “But I seduced him when I knew he didn’t want to be seduced. When I knew I could get him to do thinks he shouldn’t do.”

“Why did you do it?”

“I don’t know,” Sergio said as he started to break down. “Yes I do. Because I fucking love him and he never loved me like I loved him.”

Instinctively, Mesut reached out to Sergio, and Sergio let himself be wrapped up into Mesut’s arms as he began to sob. Sergio’s pain and heartbreak were real and they were raw in a way that made Mesut and his crush seem silly in comparison.

It occurred to Mesut, as Sergio cried, that the two of them were in such completely different places in terms of relationships. Sergio had jumped into love with both feet, blindly giving of himself to Fernando, and Mesut was just finally admitting to himself his sexual preferences, never mind having a real, broken heart to deal with.

While Mesut’s mind whirled, his body suddenly became aware of the way Sergio was pressing into him. His sobs had quietly and his fingers had begun to play on Mesut’s back, slowly stroking him through the well worn fabric of his t-shirt.

“What-what –are you doing?” Mesut stuttered.

Sergio pulled back, his expressive eyes meeting Mesut’s. Mesut couldn’t even breathe as Sergio moved forward, pressing their lips together softly.

Mesut’s mind imploded at the contact. It was electrifying and terrifying and…

“No,” Mesut pulled back.

“Sorry,” Sergio said and retreated.

“Wait…no…I mean,” Mesut stumbled on his words as he wanted Sergio to come back to him. “I like you. Like that, but…”

“Not when I’m sitting here crying to you over some other guy?” Sergio asked, his smile sad.

“Yeah,” Mesut said, making himself hold eye contact with Sergio. “I mean…”

“You’re kinda into me?” Sergio said, his tone light and teasing, but not making fun of Mesut.

“Yeah,” Mesut said as his face turned red and he had to look away.

“Hey,” Sergio caught his chin with his finger. “I’m kinda into you, too.”

Mesut’s heart leapt. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Sergio said. “But you’re right. Not tonight. Not like this.”

Mesut nodded. “You want me to go?”

“No,” Sergio shook his head. “I want to watch this movie, and it’s your DVD.”

Mesut grinned. “I could let you borrow it.”

“Or you could just stay here and watch it with me,” Sergio suggested.

“Okay,” Mesut agreed.

They had to start the DVD over, neither of them having caught any of the first fifteen minutes of it, and they watched mostly in silence. However, Sergio stayed close to Mesut, and by the end of the movie, was snoring softly against Mesut’s shoulder.

Mesut let him sleep there all night long even after his whole left arm went numb.

* * * *

Fernando jumped up and down. He was ready for this. Ready for this match. He’d been on fire all week in training. He was so ready for this match. Focused.

The whistle blew and Fernando was off. He chased every ball. He ran at the defenders like he might take them out if they didn’t get out of his way. Maybe someone more cynical might have said that it was only a match against Swansea City, a game Chelsea should have easily won, but Fernando had learned in his many years of football that you had to treat every opponent with respect, or the Swiss National Team might just beat the future World Champions in the first game of the cup.

Every pass was on. Every corner collected at his feet. The Swansea keeper looked terrified every time Fernando came at him. It was only a matter of time.

And then it happened.

In the twenty-ninth minute, Mata lifted the ball into the eighteen yard box where it fell at Fernando’s feet, served up on a golden platter. He turned and slammed the ball into the back of the net.

The keeper had no chance.

The roar was deafening. Juan ran to him and Fernando threw his arms around him, the joy overcoming everything that had gone wrong in his life the last few weeks as his teammates surrounded him, sharing in his exuberance.

The game restarted, and Fernando was back at it. Maybe he could score a hattrick in this match. Wouldn’t that just shut up all the haters. An amazing hattrick. 

His mind on glory, Fernando chased down one of the Swansea players with possession in the Chelsea half. Oh no you don’t, Fernando thought when the player looked to collect the ball before Fernando could get there. Diving into a tackle, Fernando’s leg slipped, and the next thing he knew, he’d collided into the Swansea player, two footed.

Oh fuck, Fernando thought as he got to his feet. “You okay?”

The Swansea player was rolling around on the ground like Fernando had shot him. The ref, wanker Mike Dean, was headed toward Fernando with a look in his eyes.

Fuck. Fernando was going to get carded.

But when Mike Dean reached into his pocket, it wasn’t the flash of yellow Fernando had been expecting. The car was red.

“I barely caught him!” Fernando protested.

Ashley Cole jumped to Fernando’s defense. “It was never that bad of a challenge!”

John was there, arguing his case, but the damage was done. Refs never changed their mind once a red card was in their hands. 

All of the joy of the day washed out of Fernando as he made his way across the pitch. 

He’d been back on top.

And ruined it all over again.

* * * *

In one two hour session, Guti realized that being a manager was not as easy as it looked. He ran the team through the drills, even threw in a couple of new ones that he’d always liked at Real Madrid. For the most part, they were cooperative, but several of the players were being very lazy with it, and he hesitated to get in their faces too much, as he didn’t want to be one of those asshole managers who told you want to do like every single second of every single day.

But they got a session in, which was all that really mattered. They needed three points this weekend and at next week’s Europa Cup match.

“Check you out, all managerial,” Simao teased him as he helped Guti round up the practice balls. When they’d said everyone had been fired, they meant everyone.

Guti kicked a ball at him. “You need to work on your sprint times.”

“Yes gaffer,” Simao teased. 

They locked the balls in the storage room and went to join the team in the dressing room. Halfway there, they were stopped in the hall by the president of the club.

“Mr. Hernandez?”

“Yes, sir?” Guti said, trying not to cringe at the mangling of his proper name.

“They tell me you got the lads out training today?”

“Yes sir.”

The president of the club nodded at him thoughtfully. “Come and speak with me in my office when you get done showering.”

“Yes sir,” Guti said and as the man walked away, Guti shared a nervous glance with Simao.

“Yes, sir,” Simao teased once the president was out of earshot.

“Holy shit, what did I do now?” Guti lamented.

“Nothing, you dumbass, he probably wants to thank you.”

Guti couldn’t hide his surprise. He never got called to the president’s office to be praised. He generally got told off for his bad behavior.

Simao laughed at the confusion on Guti’s features. “You’re all grown up!”

“When the hell did that happen?”

* * * *

“What is with you?” Sami demanded as Mesut sat at lunch with a starry look in his eyes.

“What?” Mesut asked, having been far away on planet Sergio.

“You with the stupid grins,” Sami grumbled. Sergio and Iker had been called to the president’s dining room for their weekly lunch with the big wigs, and Sami had actually been hoping that he’d get a chance to have an actual conversation with his best friend.

“He’s getting laid,” Cristiano decided as he joined them. “That dumb, useless look has ‘just-been-fucked’ written all over it.”

“I am not!” Mesut protested way too quickly, and everyone at the table laughed. But Sami caught his gaze, demanding a real answer with his eyes. Mesut shook his head. He wasn’t.

Sami seemed satisfied, but he focused on his grilled chicken, and didn’t take part in the conversation as Cristiano and Marcelo bugged Mesut to spill the details on his new chica.

“I bet she’s blond and busty,” Marcelo decided. “Mesut looks like the kind to be in to blondes.”

“I’m not into blondes!”

“No,” Cristiano agreed. “He likes a dark, Mediterranean girl. I can introduce you to some really hot Portuguese babes.”

“He doesn’t want Portuguese, he wants some hot Brazilian girls!” Marcelo argued. “I have a cousin you would adore, Mesut.”

Mesut rolled his eyes at them as he watched Sami. Part of him wanted to share his happiness with his best friend, but Sami seemed to sense what had happened and wasn’t happy about it. He knew Sami worried about him, but couldn’t he see how amazing Sergio was? And they were being careful. Marcelo and Cristiano were convinced that Mesut was into girls, so no one must suspect.

After lunch, Mesut caught up to Sami. “Hey. Are you okay?”

“Sure, great,” Sami said, not even looking at him.

“I want to talk to you!” Mesut protested, grabbing Sami on the arm.

Sami slowed and finally looked at Mesut. “What?”

“Come on, don’t be like this,” Mesut pleaded.

Sami relented. “I just don’t want you getting hurt.”

“I’m not going to get hurt,” Mesut assured him. “Nothing’s happened. We just admitted we liked each other is all. We’re being careful and going slow.”

“Okay,” Sami allowed, though his consent didn’t reach his eyes.

But before Mesut could reassure him any further, Sergio appeared.

“Hey neighbor,” he said with a bright smile. “Sami.”

“HI Sergio,” Mesut said with a shy smile in return.

“Me and Mesut are going shopping, you wanna come with?” Sergio asked with his usual cheerful friendliness.

“You two go ahead,” Sami said as he was unable to look at either of them.

Mesut frowned, not wanting Sami to be upset with him, but when Sergio nuzzled his neck, he was powerless. He promised himself he’d call Sami later, and let Sergio whisk him off for an afternoon’s shopping. 

 

Day 11

Guti led Besiktas to a decisive victory that weekend. The president of the club had temporarily put him in charge of the team, assigning him a couple of assistants out of the main office who weren't exactly top level football management material, but they were young men who loved football, and were willing to help Guti out. They set the pitch up for practice, arranged the uniforms, and made sure everyone knew when and where to be. His translator, Zeki, became a permanent fixture at his side, helping him communicate his needs.

"Zeki, find out for me who's in charge of the busses to the airport," Guti said, sitting at the manager's desk in a mountain of paper work an unanswered emails. "I think the rest of our trip to England is already sorted, but for some reason, I don't know how we're getting to the airport."

"Sure," Zeki said with a more genuine smile than the man had given him in the year Guti'd known him. Guti had noticed a lot of people treating him differently lately. In a good way.

So this was what it was like when people respected you.

His phone rang, and Guti shifted a pile of scouting reports and answered it without taking his eyes off the email he was sending to the president.

"Hello?"

"Jose Maria Guiterrez Hernandez, what is this I hear about you managing Besiktas!"

"Raul!" Guti said, his attention drawn to the phone. "How are you?"

"I'm well. I haven't heard from you in forever, and then Sergio calls me asking if I've heard the news."

"It's nothing official," Guti said humbly. "Just a stop gap until the club can sort out what's going on. At the moment, we're mostly concerned the Turkish FA is going to slam us with fines and point deductions and other manner of punishments, even though nothing that went on was technically against any FA policies, but they do like to prove they have big cocks and get themselves involved in stuff that isn't actually their business."

"I do know that," Raul said. "You sound really good, mi amor."

Guti paused for a moment. He'd been so busy the last week, he'd lost track of everything. When he got home in the evenings, he about had time to call his kids and fall asleep. "It's crazy. Can you even imagine me managing? You were the one who was supposed to get a managing job and then you'd hire me on out of pity to organize the kit."

Raul chuckled, as they'd often joked about that very thing. "I'm so pleased for you. I was calling to see what your plans were for the October international break."

"Oh," Guti said. "That's next week?"

"Yes. I might have to be in Madrid to talk to my agent," Raul said, the suggestiveness plain in his voice.

"I have no idea, Raul. I'm supposed to go to Madrid, but I might need to be here. I mean, if they don't have a manager yet, I'm going to need to sort out what the youth teams are doing everything."

"Oh," Raul's voice was a little flat. This may have been the first time that Guti had not jumped at the chance to be with Raul. Cancelled everything except perhaps time with his kids.

"God, Aitor. I promised to come to his game then. Fuck," Guti sighed. "What a mess. And if I don't go then, I won't see them again until they come out for my birthday. Fuck."

"Don't let me keep you if you're busy," Raul said, and his voice sounded slightly annoyed.

"I'm sorry," Guti said, not oblivious. "Baby, you know I want to see you but this managing..."

"I understand."

Guti said goodbye, but before he could dwell on Raul's unhappiness, the phone on his desk rang.

"Hello?" 

He listened for a moment, really having to focus to catch the person on the other end of the line's broken English.

"What do you mean no one confirmed the flight to England!"

* * * *

Fernando checked his hair in the hall mirror for the fifteenth time. He's had it highlighted again, like Olalla always said she liked. It wasn't quite the same as it was before. Dammit, he should have told them to go lighter.

The doorbell rang, interrupting his thoughts, and he turned to it, a pang of sadness that the person on the other side felt she had to ring the doorbell to her own home.

"DADDY!"

With a wide grin, Fernando opened the door to see an indignant looking Nora, who also didn't know why they were ringing the door to their own house. "Hi!"

"Daddy!!!" Nora threw herself at him and began to babble.

"I've missed you so much Leo has a new tooth and he cried all the way here but I tried to be really good and it wasn't my fault the juice spilled on that man and he didn't need to be mean to Mummy like he was but she said it was okay and then Mummy couldn't find our passports but they were in the luggage so we were allowed to go through the gate."

Fernando wasn't exactly sure what Nora was on about, but the gist of it all was etched on Olalla's tired face.

"Bad flight?"

"They're just too little," Olalla said as Fernando took Leo's carrier from her.

"I'm sorry," Fernando said as he felt useless. This was all his fault. "I've got the kids, why don't you go take a nap."

Olalla looked like she wanted to protest, but her exhaustion got the better of her. "Okay."

She went directly upstairs while Fernando herded Nora to the kitchen. He got Leo changed and settled, fed them both lunch and put them down for naps. 

He loved every moment of it.

As he sat in Leo's room, organizing his socks, Olalla appeared, looking much better than she had when she arrived.

"Can we talk?"

Fernando nodded, checking on Leo one more time, but the little boy, now nearly a year old, was snuffling away, fast asleep.

Fernando followed her down to the lounge, where she perched on the sofa. Fernando sat on a nearby chair.

"I'm not going to pretend I'm over what happened, but I know I can't stay in Spain with the kids. You betrayed me, but they don't deserve to suffer for it."

"You're coming back?" Fernando's heart leapt. He needed her so much. He needed her and the kids and he needed this safe haven to come to. 

"To England, yes."

"You can have the house," Fernando said quickly. "I'll get a flat."

"Is that okay?" she asked. "I need time, but the kids need you."

Fernando nodded quickly. "I've missed them so much. And you..."

"I'm not ready," she said, cutting him off with tears in her eyes. "I'm just not ready."

"I understand," he said. "I'm so sorry. And I can wait. Forever if you need me to."

"I just don't know why I should believe you this time."

Her words cut through him. The two of them had been together forever, but he'd been with Sergio and others on and off. She knew, but didn't ask for him to stop. As long as he came home to her, she didn't complain. But then when she'd gotten pregnant, she’d told him that it was time to grow up. He couldn’t play with his boyfriends, and still come home to her. They were going to make a family or she was going to leave.

And she was right. She’d deserved better all along. 

So he’d said he would. They got married. Nora was perfect, and then Leo. But the stress of his career, the expectations he laid on himself got him down. His game began to suffer, and he’d turned to Sergio. Sergio who was uncomplicated and let Fernando pretend he had no responsibilities. 

“I’ve not given you any reason to,” Fernando admitted. “But I know now what I have to lose. I don’t think it really occurred to me before, but now I know.”

Olalla nodded but didn’t respond.

Fernando got up. “I’ll put some calls in now and see what kind of flat I can get right away. I’ll stay in a hotel tonight. I’ll help you get the kids settled and fed, and then I’ll go.”

“Okay,” Olalla agreed.

Fernando swallowed hard, wanting her to protest. Wanting her to insist that no, this was his home, too. But she didn’t.

 

Day 12

 

“Why are we always at my house?” Sergio wondered as Mesut followed him in with a bag of groceries.

Mesut shrugged. “I dunno, we just always are.”

“We should go to your house some time.”

“Okay.”

Sergio took the groceries and started to unload them. Mesut stood by, shuffling on his feet. He was nervous as hell. He and Sergio had been an unofficial thing for a couple of weeks now, but they’d done nothing more than share a few kisses. Mesut wanted more, but he didn’t know how to go about getting it.

Never mind the fact that next week was internationals, Mesut was nervous about Sergio going away with his Spanish friends. He was fairly certain that Sergio had been involved with Iker at one time or another. And while Sergio insisted things were over with Fernando Torres- it was fucking Fernando Torres! Mesut couldn’t compete with that!

“What’s up, Mes?

Mesut turned to Sergio with a start. “What?”

“You,” Sergio came over and laid his hands on Mesut’s hips. He gave him a seductive grin and then laid a light kiss on his lips. “You look worried about something.”

“Nothing!” Mesut said unconvincingly. He didn’t want to be needy and unsure to Sergio. Sergio was used to worldly men like Guti who didn’t complain.

Sergio moved in again, this time with a slow, deep, passionate kiss that drove all of Mesut’s worries out of his head.

It was over far too soon. 

“I’m making us dinner. You like salmon, right?”

“I do,” Mesut agreed as he savored the taste of Sergio.

He’d do anything to keep him.

* * * *

“Daddy!” Aitor called and Guti held up a finger.

“No. We are not training Wednesday morning. Yes, most of the lads will be back, but no one wants to train the Wednesday after an international break. We can do something later. Set it for three. Make sure someone sends the message out.”

“Daddy,” Aitor begged.

Guti ended the call and looked down at his son with a smile. “Sorry, buddy. You have my attention now.”

“Why are you always on the phone for work,” Aitor complained as he picked up his football. The game was finished, Aitor’s side winning handily.

“Daddy’s got some new responsibilities at work,” Guti explained as he took Aitor’s kit bag from him. “They’ve made me temporary manager.”

Aitor’s eyes got wide. “So you’re in charge?”

“I am.”

“Wow,” Aitor said. “Can we go for pizza?”

“We have to pick up your sister at home. Then we can go for pizza.”

“Zayra has a boyfriend.”

Guti stopped in his tracks. “She what?”

“Has a boyfriend,” Aitor said as he clambered into Guti’s white Audi. The team usually had to give back the cars at the end of the season, but Raul and Guti had been given theirs as parting gifts.

“Who?”

“His name is David. She told her friend Lucia that he kissed her!”

“She’s not old enough to be kissing boys!” Guti said.

Aitor looked smug. “Mummy doesn’t know.”

Guti pulled out of the parking lot in a squeal of tires. Aitor began to chatter about his game, and Guti responded, but he was focused on finding what ever boy who dared lay a finger on his little girl.

When they arrived at the house Aitor ran in first. “You’re in trou-ble!”

Arachna appeared and frowned when she saw Guti’s stormy expression. “What is it?”

“Our daughter has a boyfriend!”

Arachna tried not to laugh, but she failed. “Oh, Guti, she’s eleven. They call it dating but it hardly is.”

“He kissed her!”

“Guti, how many girls had you kissed by the time you were eleven?”

“That’s really not important,” Guti said, though the number wasn’t small. But kissing girls when you were eleven was nothing, really. Okay fine, maybe she had a point.

Arachne hugged him. “Besides, he broke up with her this morning. She’s devastated.”

“He hurt her?” Guti said, his anger renewed.

“Don’t bring it up, she’s been crying all morning!”

“Daddy! Aitor is making fun of me!” Zayra came running in with tears streaming down her face.

“I was not!” Aitor came scampering after as Zayra threw herself into her father’s arms.

“Do enjoy them this evening,” Arachna said with a wide grin.

* * * *

“Are you and Sami fighting?”

The question was innocent enough, but it startled Mesut all the same. He looked over at his national team mate, Lukas asked him. “Not really, why?”

“I dunno, you two are usually inseparable. Some of the lads started to wonder if the two of you were dating or something.”

There was a mischievous gleam in Lukas’s eye, and Mesut turned bright red. “We’re not!”

“Calm down,” Lukas laughed. “I was just saying that we never see one of you without the other and he’s been off with some of the Munich lads and you’ve kinda been hanging out on your own with your eyes glued to that phone.” The team was on a bus to train at the stadium they’d be playing at that night.

“Oh, uh,” Mesut said as the phone in question was now turning in his hands. “Just expecting a text from a friend.”

In truth, after the first day, Mesut had stopped expecting a text from Sergio. He’d sent a couple of his own, and Sergio had replied, being perfectly friendly, but was always headed here or there and Mesut didn’t want to bother him. 

And Sami got angry every time he mentioned Sergio, so Mesut hadn’t been talking to him much. Sami was the only one who even knew, and he hated it that Sami didn’t want to hear. Sami didn’t think Sergio was being very good to Mesut, but Mesut didn’t think Sami was being fair. Sergio wasn’t doing anything wrong. Mesut was just new to all this stuff, and it didn’t help that they had to hide their relationship. 

“A girl friend?” Lukas asked.

“Kinda.”

“Oh, my lord,” Lukas leaned out into the aisle. “Mesut has a GIRL FRIEND.”

“I don’t!” Mesut protested as he tried to disappear into his seat.

“Ooooh!” Thomas appeared over Mesut’s head. “Is she hot? Some Spanish chick, I bet. Spanish chicks are so hot.”

“It’s not!” Mesut protested as Thomas tugged on his hair. 

“Got a picture of her?”

“No!”

“Come on, Mes! Share!”

“Leave him alone!” 

Mesut looked up and saw Sami in the aisle, glaring at his tormentors.

“If he doesn’t want to tell you, he fucking doesn’t want to tell you.”

Lukas grinned. “See Mes, he’s still got your back.”

The comment was laced with innuendo, but Mesut didn’t rise to it, and Sami went back to his seat, satisfied that they were going to leave Mesut alone.

Sami was always looking out for him.

* * * *

Fernando would have denied it if anyone had asked, but yes, he was avoiding Sergio. He didn’t know how to be just friends with his first love, and if they couldn’t just be friends, they couldn’t be anything.

“How are you doing?” Xabi asked. Thankfully, the media hadn’t gotten ahold of the story, but the wives talked, and by now, the whole national team knew that Fernando’s wife had left him.

“Been better,” Fernando admitted. “But she’s come back to England so I can still help her with the kids. She’s in the house and I’m living at the team hotel.”

“Good,” Xabi said. The team was warming up for their last training session, and thus far, Fernando had been able to completely avoid Sergio.

Not that Sergio was lonely without him, Fernando thought a little bitterly. He had his usual entourage of admirers, and he’d even overheard Raul Albiol tell David Villa that they were all pretty sure Sergio had been fooling around with Mesut Ozil.

He gets to move on like nothing ever happened and I’m having to book in time to play dolls with my own daughter, Fernando thought with a flash of anger.

“You talk to Sergio at all?” Xabi asked gently as he saw where Fernando was looking.

“No,” Fernando said shortly. “He and I don’t talk at all.”

“He feels bad about Olalla leaving you,” Xabi quietly told him. “Iker said he was inconsolable when he heard the news. He knows it was partially his fault.”

“No,” Fernando said, denying Sergio any sympathy. “This was my fault. This is my marriage, and my family, and it was my fault.

Xabi didn’t respond, and Fernando knew he was being petty. But he didn’t want to feel sorry for Sergio. He didn’t want to feel anything for Sergio ever again.

* * * *

Guti dropped Aitor at his training session the following day on his way back to the airport. He had some time to kill, so he wandered around the Real Madrid training ground to see who was about. They reserves were training a couple of pitches over, and Guti spotted Esteban Granero among them.

“Well, hey,” Guti said as Esteban spotted him and waved. “How are you?”

“Alright,” Esteban jogged over as they were on a water break. “How’s Turkey?”

“Kind of crazy. They just named me temporary manager.”

“I heard that,” Esteban said. “I’m not sure who was more shocked, the media or your old teammates.”

Guti grinned. “Probably me. Hey, did I hear you finished your degree?”

“I did,” Esteban said. 

“Congratulations,” Guti said as a thought began to wander into his brain. “You ever think about moving on to somewhere you can get more playing time?”

“You trying to recruit me for Besiktas?” Esteban said with a laugh, but Guti shrugged. 

“We could use another spark in the midfield. I’m fairly certain we don’t have any money to buy your contract, but I wonder if Real would be willing to loan you.”

“You’re serious,” Esteban said, a new light of respect forming in his eyes. He’d always liked Guti, as you really couldn’t dislike someone as full of life as Guti was, but he’d always considered Guti to be impulsive and irresponsible. 

“Think about it?” Guti asked, his voice sincere. “We have a couple of months to consider it anyway, and I really think the playing time you’d get would help you out. You have my number, right?”

“Yeah,” Esteban said. “I’ll let you know.”

 

Day 13

October was a whirlwind of activity at Real Madrid. They were winning, they were playing well, and the media started talking about them in terms of strengths rather than failures. The German press was taking a real interest in Mesut, and he found himself at interviews and photo shoots with a disturbing regularity.

“I mean, really, what the hell do they want all these pictures of me for? Come watch me play football!” Mesut complained as he dumped the pasta into the drainer, saving some of the water for his sauce.

“Mes, your gorgeous. Don’t you notice the fangirls screaming for you?” Sergio chuckled as he handed Mesut the cheese which he added to the sauce. They were at Mesut’s tonight, as they had been a lot since returning from the latest international break. Mesut was a half decent cook, and when Sergio had discovered this, he’d been demanding ever increasingly complicated recipes out of him.

Tonight’s offering was angel hair pasta in a cheesy basil sauce with fresh tomatoes. The last of the real garden tomatoes were disappearing from the stores as fall settled into Spain, but Mesut had found a perfect basket just that afternoon at the market.

“I’m so not gorgeous. You are gorgeous,” Mesut smiled at Sergio, and leaned over for a kiss.

Sergio gave him a quick, light kiss, and handed him the diced, fresh basil from his own garden. “Shut up.”

Mesut quickly stirred the sauce and dropped the pasta into the bowl, ignoring his frustration at Sergio. Why couldn’t he get any more than a friendly kiss out of him? He tossed the pasta and sauce, and it coated the fine strands perfectly. 

“That smells amazing,” Sergio said as he took the salad to the table and topped up their wine glasses.

They consumed the meal while discussing the upcoming match. They were still in second, to Levante of all teams, but being on top of Barcelona at this point was what really mattered. Other teams would falter, Barcelona rarely did, and if they were going to win La Liga, beating Barcelona was all that mattered. They were already through the group stages of the Champions League with two games in hand.

“Movie?” Mesut offered as they cleaned up the dishes.

“I can’t tonight,” Sergio said as he loaded Mesut’s dishwasher. 

“Oh,” Mesut said, his heart sinking. While Sergio hung out with him all the time still, he couldn’t get things moving past the occasional kiss. He wanted more of Sergio.

“Rain check, okay?” Sergio said with his best ‘you’ll forgive me anything because you love me’ smile.

“Not okay,” Mesut said, not even sure where the words had come from. He knew he had to be bolder with Sergio to get what he wanted, but he hadn’t been sure he had the nerve to do it.

“Not okay?” Sergio raised an eyebrow.

“No,” Mesut said as he threw down his towel. “I made this whole dinner for you and you’re just going to leave?” He closed the gap between them and pushed Sergio back against the granite counter top. 

“I didn’t know I had to put out to get dinner,” Sergio joked, but his eyes were wary of Mesut’s aggressiveness.

Hands on Sergio’s hips, Mesut pressed forward for a kiss. Sergio allowed it, and even responded easily to Mesut’s demanding lips and tongue.

Oh god yes, Mesut thought as he took in all that was Sergio. Yes, yes...

Sergio broke away. “Okay...”

Mesut backed off, his eyes flying open. “I...”

“Look,” Sergio said, unable to meet Mesut’s eyes as he gently pushed Mesut back. “I can’t, not tonight.”

“You never want to!” Mesut shot back and instantly regretted his words. Fuck. Fuck. He shouldn’t complain. Sergio didn’t want a whiny boyfriend.

“That’s not true!” Sergio protested, reaching for Mesut, but Mesut pushed his hands away and retreated to the far side of the island in the kitchen. 

“Whatever, it’s fine. You have to go.”

“Mes, don’t be like this.”

“I said I’m fine,” Mesut said as he fought tears. “Some other time.”

Sergio was running his hand through his hair. “I want to, okay! But I...”

“What?” Mesut asked, hating himself for begging. “What am I doing wrong? I don’t know what else you want me to do.”

“Oh Mes,” Sergio sighed. “I just...”

“What?”

Sergio met his eyes, and for a terrified moment, Mesut was sure Sergio was going to break up with him. Oh god. He’d fucked this all up.

“You’ve never been with a guy...have you?”

“What does that matter?” Mesut asked, confused. How did Sergio even know that? Who could have told... “Sami. Sami told you.”

Sergio’s guilty eyes confirmed it. “Mes, he’s worried about you. He doesn’t want you to get hurt.”

“You talked about me?” Betrayal stabbed through Mesut. “Oh fucking great. Stupid gay Mesut isn’t just a failure with girls, he’s a bad gay man too. Just fucking great. Well you can tell Sami to fucking mind his own business. I fucking don’t need either of you to tell me how to live my goddamn life.”

“Mesut, you’re not being fair.”

“Fuck off. And get the hell out of my house.”

“Mes.”

“I SAID LEAVE.”

Sergio sighed as he picked up his keys and his phone and made his way out the back door of Mesut’s house.

Mesut slid down to the floor in the kitchen, unable to help himself as the pain overtook him. He didn’t know how to do anything that mattered. His friends thought he was stupid. He was stupid. How did he ever even think that someone like Sergio would ever want stupid, ugly Mesut?

* * * *

Chelsea struggled through October. Fernando felt like he wasn’t in control of any part of his life. When he finally got back on the pitch, he could do nothing to stop Chelsea from getting embarrassed by Arsenal at home and was next to useless in the narrow victory over Blackburn. At home, he was totally at the mercy of Olalla’s schedule. He got to see the kids when she allowed it, never mind the afternoon he’d been told he wasn’t starting against Blackburn, he needed some Barbie time, Olalla said she was busy. And the maid in the hotel kept moving his trainers out from under the bed where he liked to keep them, and it was like a silent battle of wills that he left them there every morning, and every afternoon they were in the closet.

“We have three days off,” Juan said in amazement as he looked at the calendar on the wall in the main hall at Cobham. They’d just gotten back from Blackburn, and he and Fernando were driving back into town together.

“I know. Spain’s not meeting up until Wednesday because Barcelona has a match Wednesday,” Fernando said with a grin. “Don’t you pay attention?”

“Nando, you know I’m lucky to get my laundry done these days,” Juan laughed. He’d to;d Fernando that week he’d been going to a Tesco store several miles away to do his shopping, and just that week had turned left instead of right going out of his drive, and discovered there was a Tesco’s half a block that way he’d never known was there. “I check what I have to do the next day before I go to bed, and that’s about all I manage.”

Fernando shook his head. “You crack me up.”

Juan grinned. “So what are you doing with your break?”

“I dunno,” Fernando shrugged. “Olalla and I had talked about taking the kids to Legoland, but I suppose that’s not happening.”

Juan looked sympathetic as they headed to Fernando’s truck. “She still not wanting to talk?”

“No. And when I come over to see the kids, she disappears to go shopping or something. We haven’t spoken two words to each other that aren’t about the kids or the house.”

“Give her time,” Juan said. “She’ll come around.”

“I know,” Fernando said. “I’m trying, but I’m just afraid the longer we pass by each other as strangers, the harder it will be to find each other again.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Juan said. “But maybe she wants to make sure you’re not running off to Sergio for comfort while you don’t have her.”

“I know,” Fernando said, and his voice hardened. “I’m so done with Sergio. He didn’t even fucking care that being with him ruined my marriage.”

“Yes he did,” Juan protested on Sergio’s behalf. “Iker said he was upset.”

“He was?” Fernando asked. “He never said.”

“Because you won’t talk to him!”

“I can’t!” Fernando said. “I make such stupid decisions around Sergio. I need to fix my marriage and Sergio will only make it worse.”

“I know,” Juan agreed. “But punishing Sergio doesn’t fix anything.”

“Sergio doesn’t matter,” Fernando said even though he knew it was a lie. “All that matters is my family.”

* * * *

“Guti, you have to go out with us!” Simao begged. “You haven’t gone out in ages.”

“I went out for my birthday.”

“Dinner with your family does not count as going out.” Simao was leaning on Guti’s desk. Guti as trying to finish his weekly report to the board before going on the international break. The last he’d heard, they’d stopped seriously looking for a replacement manager after the Turkish FA had dropped their investigation into the situation, and granted Guti a temporary managing license through the rest of the season.

“We need a midfielder and a striker but the board won’t give me any spending cash.”

Simao gave up. “You’re the temp, Guti, you don’t get to buy anyone.”

“Buy, fine, but we could get some loans? Think we could lure Anelka from Chelsea? He’s not getting much playing time?”

“He’d be good,” Simao allowed. “Any word on Granero?”

“No,” Guti sighed. “I put in some calls to the board, and I think they’d be willing to deal, but Estaban isn’t sure, and fucking Mourinho won’t even take my calls.”

“You’re going to Madrid this week, right?”

“Yeah,” Guti said. 

“So stop in an see Jose. You know people who can let you know when he’s in, just walk into his office and make him listen to you.”

“Can I do that?” Guti wondered. He had no shortage of balls in most situations, but he still felt like the junior manager on the block who had to respect his elders.

“Jose Maria, you can do anything you want.”

* * * *

Day 13.5

Mesut stopped talking to any of his teammates. He planned time with his family at the start of the break and for two days, made his mother happy by lying to her about a girl he’d started dating, catching up with his siblings, and discussing his investment portfolio with his father.

When he arrived at the Germany camp, he went straight to his room, shut the door, and laid on his bed, headphones on, alarm set for training.

Which was why he didn’t hear the knocking on the door until it was an insistent pounding.

Annoyed, Mesut got up to answer it.

Sami.

There was a worried look on his friend’s face, but Mesut looked away. “What?”

“Come on, Mes. I’m sorry about what I said to Sergio.”

“Fine,” Mesut said to the carpet. Sami could be sorry all day long as far as Mesut was concerned. It didn’t change the fact that Mesut had made an idiot out of himself.

“Can I come in?” Sami begged.

“No,” Mesut started to shut the door, but Sami was bigger than him, and forced his way in. 

“I’m not leaving until you talk to me.”

“Okay,” Mesut said as he shut the door and shuffled back to the bed. He laid down and closed his eyes, turning his music back on.

“MESUT!” Sami yelled in frustration.

Finally, Mesut took off his headphones. “What do you want me to say? That it’s okay that you went and told the guy I was really into that I was a virgin? Because it wasn’t!”

“I didn’t tell him you were a virgin! I told him you’d just come out and you were nervous about it and that he should take it slow!”

“And how did you possibly think it was your right to do that?”

“Fucking hell, Mesut, I’m worried about you! Fucking Sergio Ramos doesn’t give a shit about you and your first time! He just wants to shove his cock somewhere that feels good.”

“How dare you,” Mesut said. “How dare you judge Sergio like that. You don’t know anything about him!”

“And what do you know about him?” Sami countered. “Did you know he’s fucking Iker and Cristiano?”

Mesut froze. “What?”

“Oh my god Mesut, wake up. Sergio is happy to fuck you, but that’s all you’re ever going to get out of him.”

“Well for your information, he’s not happy to fuck me, alright?”

Sami frowned. “You and Sergio haven’t...?”

“No!” Mesut said. “He doesn’t want me.”

“Oh Mes,” Sami said as Mesut started to crumple. He went to Mesut and took him in his arms, and Mesut didn’t fight him. 

“I’m too ugly to fuck.”

“No, no, no you’re not. Oh Mes, you’re not.”

Sami held Mesut tightly and every bit of anger and confusion flooded out of Mesut in a torrent of sloppy tears. He hurt so much he didn’t even know why any more. He tried so hard to be the kind of person Sergio would love and he had failed so miserably. Some how he’d assumed when he’d let himself be gay, it would all fall into place. How was it even harder now?

When Mesut’s tears subsided, Sami was still there. He was stroking Mesut’s back and not needing Mesut to be anything but who Mesut was. He felt so safe.

“Why is this so hard,” Mesut asked in a small voice, sniffling.

“I don’t know,” Sami said honestly. “I don’t think it’s easy for anyone. I think we make it harder than it needs to be, though.”

Mesut sighed. “You mean maybe I shouldn’t have fallen for the most unattainable man on the planet?”

Sami sighed as Mesut pulled back, scrubbing as his tear stained face with the sleeve of his shirt. “I think maybe you need to stop making all of this about Sergio.” He pushed the hair away from Mesut’s face. “Make it about Mesut.”

With no warning what so ever, a flash of desire shot through Mesut as he looked at Sami’s familiar, beautiful face. But as soon as it arrived, Mesut pushed it away. No. No he was not going to do this. He was not going to transfer his hurt feelings for Sergio over to Sami and end up ruining his friendship with Sami. He needed Sami too much for that.

“Can we be friends again?” Mesut asked.

“Of course we can,” Sami smiled. “We never stopped being friends.”

“Good,” Mesut said as he hugged Sami tightly. “Because I can’t get through all this without you.”

* * * *

“Okay. We have the diaper bag, snacks, Nora’s jacket, Leo’s jacket,” Fernando looked over everything in the back of the truck. “Stroller...”

“Daddy, where is mummy going to sit?” Nora asked as she wandered up to the truck, seeing that Fernando had set the diaper bag on the front seat.

“She’s not coming with us, sweetheart,” Fernando said, his heart sinking as her little face fell.

“Why not, Daddy? Why are you and mummy never together any more?”

“No reason. Don’t you want to have a day with Daddy?”

“I want to have a day with Mummy and Daddy,” Nora said as her little face started to screw up like it did when she was getting ready to cry. Olalla had just emerged from the house, carrying Leo and she stopped when she heard what Nora said.

She glanced at Fernando. “Don’t you want to go to Legoland with Daddy?”

“I want both of...you...to...come!” Nora’s words became punctuated with sobs as she dropped to her knees on the pavement.

Fernando lifted her up. “Shh, honey.”

Nora cried on and Fernando looked helplessly at Olalla.

But she couldn’t meet his eye. She carried Leo to the car seat and strapped him in, and not knowing what else to do, Fernando moved to put Nora in as well, but when she realized what he was doing she started to fight against him.

“NO!” she screamed and Fernando nearly dropped her, having underestimated the power in her little body. “MUMMY AND DADDY GO!!!!!!”

Fernando looked to Olalla for help, and realized she was crying.

“Do you want to come with us?” Fernando asked desperately. He did want her to go. He never for a minute didn’t want her to come.

“MUMMY COME!” Nora wailed.

Olalla finally met Fernando’s eyes. “I do want to come.”

“Will you?” Fernando asked, realizing this was a different question.

Olalla nodded. “I will.”

Fernando moved around the car and when he got to Olalla, he wrapped his free arm around her. She leaned into him and Fernando’s own eyes started to leak. She did want to come.

“Mummy come?” Nora asked happily.

Olalla sniffed. “Yeah. Mummy’s coming.”

“Mama!” Leo approved, probably wondering why everyone else was sobbing.

* * * *

Guti walked out of Jose Mourinho’s office with a self satisfied feeling like he wasn’t sure he’d felt in his whole life. He had no idea what had given him the nerve for that, but Jose was willing to loan him Esteban for the second half of the season if the contracts could be worked out.

Fuck. YES.

Guti couldn’t even imagine how good he felt right now. He had no idea that there was this much pleasure to be gained in this sort of endeavor. He’d been staying up late a lot of nights, watching tapes and planning tactics and finally getting a chance to act on all those thoughts he’d had over the years of ‘if I was the manager, I’d tell the team to do THIS.’

“You’re all smiles today.”

Guti looked up with a start and saw Esteban walking toward him. Damn, he was a good looking kid. “I am.”

“So are you still trying to recruit me for Besiktas?” Esteban said.

“I am.” Guti said. “Can I take you to lunch and convince you?”

“You’re serious about this, aren’t you?”

“I am,” Guti said. “And man, we could use you. I mean, I can’t play 90 minutes twice a week anymore, and we just don’t have anyone good enough to hold down the fort when I’m not there.”

“What about Simao?”

“I love him and he’s great, but I need someone else to balance him. And can you imagine the three of us across the midfield? We could destroy some of these Turkish teams.”

“You are serious,” Esteban said as he crossed his arms and regarded Guti. “Just a loan?”

“Well, I’m out of contract the end of the year, and as much as I’m liking it better now that I’m managing, I’ve got to get back to Spain. So yeah, just the end of the season.”

“Alright,” Esteban said. “You can take me to lunch and try to talk me into it.”

* * * *

Day 14

 

With a smile on his face, Fernando made his way through the gauntlet of reporters, sporting a very loud, very bright t-shirt which proclaimed Legoland across the chest. His agent would have a fit, providing free advertising for a non sponsor, but when Nora had picked the shirt out especially for him to buy (she had a matching one) and brought it to him this morning: "Daddy, you and me wear same," he wouldn't have taken it off for all the sponsorship money on the planet.

Never mind the fact that Legoland may have saved his marriage. Olalla has started off the day closed and unsure, but the third time Nora had insisted they all ride on the tiny train that was about the only thing Leo was big enough for, she had started laughing at the sight of Fernando's long footballing legs crunched up in the car. She'd let him spend the night, on the couch, but it was in the house, and he'd stayed the next day. Reluctantly, he'd left this morning for the airport, but she'd said he was welcome back when he got home.

"Nice," Pepe Reina approved as he appeared in the team lounge later that day. He too had been known to wear not exactly fashionable things that his daughters had selected for him.

"At least I talked her out of the pink one," Fernando grinned as he flopped onto the couch next to Pepe.

"So, everything good?" Pepe asked, knowing most of the situation. 

"Not great," Fernando said. "But getting there."

"Good," Pepe grinned. Pepe knew as well as Fernando did that having a warm, cared for home to return to after their hectic days and nights, meant more than anything.

"So anyone else think what an utter waste of time it was to fly to Spain today so we can fly back to England tomorrow?" grumbled David Silva who looked like he hadn't gotten a very good night's sleep.

"Silva, it's 25 degrees and sunny today in Madrid," Fernando said, "why in heavens name would you rather be in London where it's cold and raining?"

Silva sighed. "I suppose."

"Miss your boyfriend?" Pepe teased him as everyone knew he and Kun Augero were joined at the hip ever since the young Argentine had moved to Manchester City.

"He's not my boyfriend!" Silva protested loudly. Too loudly, Fernando thought as he glanced over his shoulder and noticed David Villa was in the corridor, giving the bitch face to end all bitchfaces.

Villa was married, Fernando pondered. How did he juggle things? In his head, Fernando thought it would have been ideal to have Sergio on the side and Olalla keeping his home, but he knew that wasn't fair to either Sergio or Olalla. Maybe some people didn't mind so much about exclusivity.

But then again, if SIlva and Villa really were an item, how could Villa be upset that Silva had other lovers? Fernando knew that Sergio had others, and while he couldn't honestly say he was happy about it, he knew he had no right to have Olalla and deny Sergio another.

Gah, Fernando thought as he tuned back into Pepe's description of his book launch signing, it was so much easier to not have to worry about it all. Hopefully he and Olalla were back on their way to good, and he could never have to worry about these messes ever again.

* * * *

"So you have to come to Besiktas," Guti summed up. "If for nothing else than to get the hell out of Madrid for awhile."

"I like Madrid," Esteban grinned, happy on the nearly full bottle of wine Guti had been plying him with at his own restaurant.

"I love Madrid," Guti agreed. "But I'd never lived anywhere else until I went to Besiktas. I needed to branch out. See more of the world than buses and football stadiums."

"Hey, Jose lets us go sight seeing some times. We partied in LA this summer."

"I know, and I hate you for it!" Guti laughed. "I never got to party with rock stars in LA."

"We say Jay-Z at a party and I thought Sergio was going to wet himself," Esteban remembered. "And then Canales started to hit on Beyonce, and you should have seen the look on Iker's face."

"Oh god," Guti grinned. "But seriously. You speak English, so you're good to go there. You can stay near me, or hell, I got space in my house if you just want to live there. And you'll play."

"Guraranteed?" Esteban raised an eyebrow.

"Well, Guti shrugged. "I can't make promises like that, but I know how you play, and I know you're better than a lot of what we have at Besiktas."

"Alright, you talked me into it," Esteban agreed. "Talk to my agent."

"You mean my agent?" Guti grinned. "I already talked to him. He's working on the deal."

"You were pretty sure of me?" Esteban asked as he unconsciously licked his lips.

Guti wanted to lick those lips. "Uh...yeah. I was."

"You think I'm easy like that?"

God I wish you were easy because I'd take you back to my house and fuck you so...

The waiter appeared to clear away their dessert plates saving Guti from his own lavisious thoughts. It had been so long since he'd had any sex. It wasn't good for a person.

"No, I don't think you're easy," Guti said as he knew it was true, but in the back of his head, he wondered if Esteban could be seduced. It was rather a challenge he'd look forward to.

Esteban was poured into a taxi and Guti checked his phone. Raul was in town without Mamen, and he was expecting to be summoned some time today. There was no message yet, so Guti decided to take a walk. It was a gorgeous day in Madrid, and the neighborhood his restaurant was in was right near the Bernabeu. He hadn't seen the place in over a year. So much of his life had taken place in that stadium, it was strange to him to have not seen it in so long.

He wandered down the streets, getting curious looks as he drew closer to the stadium. There were people in Real Madrid shirts going to see the stadium, perhaps take the tour, and the half familiar blond was certainly not....?

Guti didn't make eye contact; he hid behind his shades and took in the sight of the Bernabeau as someone would approach it on foot. He hadn't for years. He always appeared in his car, ducking down into the underground parking garage, and emerging from the tunnel onto the green pitch that was always perfectly manicured. He walked around to the side entrance, and when he approached the guard at the door to the offices, he lowered his sunglasses.

"Mr. Guti!" the man said in surprise. "It is so good to see you!"

Guti smiled at him, the warm reception making him feel at home. "How are you?"

"I am well!" the man said with a smile. "Are you here to see someone?"

"I'd love to just have a look around, if that's alright?"

"Of course!"

He was let in the gate with no hesitation, and those he passed didn't speak to him at all, but all smiled and nodded to him.

Guti was filled with a great sense of peace and belonging. At Besiktas, he was always a bit of an outsider, and he now had more empathy for some of the players who had come to Real from distant lands and never really quite settled in. This was his home. 

He found the trophy room and looked over the shiny trophies. Saw pictures of himself lifting them high, Raul at his side. 

Raul.

He hadn't checked his phone in over an hour, and when he glanced at it now, the message was waiting.

"Come over?"

Guti paused. His reflection caught in the side of the Champions League cup. This was his home, but it was also his past. A past he needed to move on from. His life was so different now. He was so different from the man who had left this place eighteen months ago.

"I'm at the Bernabeu. Join me?"

"Why?"

"Please?"

"Alright."

Guti put the phone in his pocket and continued his journey. He passed through the press room where he'd had his farewell. His family had been here. His mother had cried. He had cried. The room was empty now. Devoid of life.

He went to the dressing room. The tourists were allowed to see the away dressing room, but never the home one. He was let in without question and he stepped into the familiar space. The smell of it.

Sergio's colonge.

That awful ointment the trainer used on sore muscles.

The lockers were already dressed for the next home game. Shirts carefully laid. He stopped at his old locker and saw that Fabio Coentrau had been given the space. Trading blond for blonde.

"What are you doing here?"

Guti turned and saw Raul had joined him. There was confusion on his features.

Beautiful and familiar and so right in this space. 

"They gave your locker to that new German kid," Guti pointed out, not ready to say yet what he now knew he needed to say.

Raul looked at it for a moment. "Still the same and yet completely different."

"It is," Guti agreed as Raul ran his hand across Iker's locker.

"I keep saying I'm going to stay in touch, but I haven't talked to Iker in months."

"I haven't either," Guti admitted. "Sergio texts me some, but mostly for fashion advice or to complain about something or other."

"I hear from him some," Raul nodded. "It was hard enough to leave, but I think the worst part is that it didn't all just end without us. There's players here I will never know."

Guti saw Raul's eyes had grown wet, and his own heart started to break. He sat down next to Sergio's kit and drew in a deep breath.

"I think we should break up."

There was a frozen moment in the room, and Guti had to look up to make sure Raul hadn't just disappeared. 

"Why?" There was real confusion in those brown eyes he loved.

Guti took a shaky breath. "I still love you. God, you know I'll never stop loving you, but...I..." Guti stalled and looked to Raul for help, but the hurt and tears there didn't help anything. 

His own eyes dripped. "I love you. But I have to move on. You and I were so good. The captains. Everything to each other and this club. But that's all gone now."

Raul didn't protest, for surely he knew how true these words were.

"But you have your family, Mamen, your new life and everything you need in Germany. And I've been stalled. Waiting. I don't even know what for. But I've realized now my life can have a purpose after Real, you know?"

Raul gave him a sad smile and nodded. "You're all grown up."

Guti let out a laugh. "Who could imagine that Guti would ever do that?"

Raul shook his head. "I knew. I knew you had it in you. And maybe I was hoping that some how that grown up Guti could still be a part of my life, but..."

"I will never not be a part of your life, Blanco," Guti said earnestly. "So we don't fuck any more. So maybe I finally go on and have a real relationship with someone else. Something lasting. But you will never, ever not be a part of who I am."

"The kids would never forgive us," Raul said.

Guti reached out and hugged Raul who hugged him back tightly.

"I love you, Jose Maria."

"I love you too."

 

Day 15

Fernando was forever amused by the fans in England. They expended so much energy being hateful to the other team, well, and sometimes their own team, he wondered if they ever actually enjoyed coming to matches.

His arrival on the pitch in the England v Spain match was greeted with a chorus of boos. Most likely fans of other clubs, but he really didn’t want to think how many of those were Chelsea fans booing him. He supposed, in reality, he didn’t blame them. He was hardly the messiah his transfer fee had promised.

Though why they thought for some reason that someone, not them, had paid a lot of money for his services gave them the right to be hateful and abusive, he would never know. They’d bought his playing ability, not his soul.

He quickly forgot about them as the game began. Blocking them out was the only way to exist on the pitch. In actuality, the more they booed, the less he cared. It was funny, if you really thought about it.

Spain was down 1-0 to England, and the team looked like they honestly didn’t care enough to try to get back in the game. Fernando didn’t make much of an effort to change their minds as he took half hearted passes and turned them in to lazy attempts on goal. Attempts in the general vicinity of the goal.

How much time was left in this match?

Fernando knew this was his weakness. He knew he fed off the energy of his teammates, and when they were ready to go, he was ready to go. When they didn’t get motivated, he did nothing to change that.

He should do more, he thought as the corner kick came flying way over his head and he watched it drop harmlessly into Joe Hart’s hands.

“Come on! Step it up!” Sergio urged as everyone jogged back toward midfield.

Fernando looked at Sergio for a moment.

Now there was passion and leadership. Maybe too passion as Sergio was already on a yellow, but he didn’t back off for a second. Fernando was too aware of consequences in his life. Sergio had never faced a consequence in his life he hadn’t smiled his way out of.

There was no bitterness to his thoughts about Sergio any more. Not since he’d realized he had to face his own consequences, and Sergio, well, Sergio couldn’t do that for him even if he’d wanted to. Thankfully, Fernando seemed to be getting off rather easily. Olalla was coming around and things would keep getting better as long as he didn’t give her any more reasons to mistrust him.

But a part of him missed Sergio. Missed the smiles and the teasing. Missed the carefree laughter they’d shared for so many years.

Why did taking responsibility for your actions take away so much of the joy of life?

* * * *

Sami picked Mesut up for training their first day back from internationals. Mesut was smiling again now that he had his best friend back. He could handle a lot of crap if he had Sami at his side.

After training, they were going to go shopping to get Mesut a new cell phone. Sami was appalled that Mesut was still using his crappy, three year old Blackberry, and wanted to get him an iPhone.

“What if I lose all my numbers?” Mesut fretted as he clung to his old friend. “I don’t have anyone’s number except on this phone. Should I copy them down?”

“Good heavens, Mes. This isn’t 1999. They can sync them up for you,” Sami said with an affectionate ruffle of Mesut’s hair. They were walking into the training ground and Sergio came jogging up to meet them.

“New phone?” Sergio asked. “Maybe we can get you on twitter!”

“No twitter!” Mesut said. “No no no no twitter.” The sight of Sergio smiling at him like he hadn’t left Mesut in tears the week before made his stomach go fluttery.

“Come on!” Sergio protested. “Twitter is awesome. Hold on you two.”

Sergio produced his phone and deftly pushed a couple of buttons. “Smile!”

Mesut realized that Sergio meant to take their picture. Sami threw an arm around him and grinned. “Cheese.”

Sergio’s fingers flew over the phone and then he held it up to Mesut. 

“Everyone tell my friends Sami and Mesut they need to get on Twit…SERGIO!” Mesut yelled.

Sergio laughed and dashed ahead of them into the building. “They love you, Mes!”

Sami was laughing with him. “Calm down Mes. All they can do is tell Sergio you need to get on Twitter. They have no access to you!”

“I knew that,” Mesut pouted. Maybe he should get on Twitter. He and Sergio could send each other messages.

Training was the usual cheerful catching up from the break affair. Players who’s done well bragged about his country’s exploits, and those who did poorly acted like they were from some other place. Jose was in a good mood as well and everyone felt good about the upcoming weekend’s fixture.

“Did you hear Esteban may be getting loaned to Besitkas?” Sergio asked as he and Mesut ran together.

“Really? Why?”

“Guti talked him into it. God, I wouldn’t want to play in Turkey.”

Mesut frowned. “What’s the matter with Turkey?”

“No offense, Mes, but those fans are crazy. Have you seen some of the rioting?”

“I guess,” Mesut said, but what he didn’t say was that idiot fans rioted everywhere, it wasn’t necessarily a symptom of the Turkish game. His dad had taken him to a match once, when he was a kid, and he did see how it was a different world, especially from the clean cut German football he’d known, but it was wonderful and passionate in its own way. 

But these weren’t things he could say to Sergio.

“So am I allowed to tag along on this shopping trip?” Sergio asked as they gathered for Jose’s final words.

Desire surged through Mesut again. He thought he’d lost his chance with Sergio and here was Sergio acting like he wasn’t a crazy freak. 

“Sure.”

* * * *

The one thing Guti had forgotten in his relentless pursuit of Esteban was that he had to convince the board at Besiktas that they wanted another Spanish player.

“There are rules about how many non-Turks you can have in a squad,” Zeki patiently explained to the irate Guti.

“What the fuck,” Guti threw up his hands. Of course he had known this, but goddammit, couldn’t these idiots see he needed Esteban?

Zeki wisely did not translate this part of his tirade.

“We need him,” Guti said, trying to find some patience from somewhere. “We need him.”

“We have too many Europeans,” the director shook his head. “We cannot have more.”

“So get rid of someone!” Guti said. “I can make a list for you of the players we can lose. Loan them out somewhere.”

The board considered. “Send us a proposal.”

With that, the meeting ended. Frustrated, Guti slammed back to his office. Fucking hell. How was he supposed to run this team if they didn’t get him the players he needed. Of course, it would be his fault if something went wrong. If Simao got hurt they were fucking screwed!

After a moment of slamming things, he realized Zeki had followed him.

“Yes?”

“May I speak?”

Guti frowned, but gestured to a chair in front of his desk. Zeki sat and considered him for a moment.

“You are not familiar with how business is done in Turkey.”

Guti resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He’d just now gotten Zeki on his side, he didn’t need to be disrespectful to him. “I suppose not.”

“There is a very specific chain of command,” Zeki said. “You cannot go to the board and demand things. That will never work. You must go and respectfully request things. Even then, that may not work.”

“Then how the fuck am I supposed to get anything done around here!”

Zeki gave him a sympathetic smile. “You must be patient. You do not need this player tomorrow, do you?”

“Well, I’d like him tomorrow, but no, I can’t have him until January.”

“So we are not in a rush. You go to drinks with the board. You mention this player. You tell them how wonderful he is. You say you will try to convince him. Then, you mention the player you want to get rid of. You say how he has a poor attitude or does not train well. Then, you mention it another time. In a month, they come to you and say ‘make this transfer’, which is what you wanted all along, but when they think it is their idea, they are happy and you are happy.”

Guti regarded Zeki. “You’re pretty smart, aren’t you?”

Zeki shrugged. “I am a translator. I spend my days listening to others. You pick things up.”

“Zeki, what do you say I buy you a drink and you explain more of this stuff to me?”

Zeki smiled. “Sure.”

 

Day 16

Chelsea wandered through the rest of the year, winning most games, but never really putting on any kind of convincing display at all. They held on to the top four, mostly due to the self destruction of Newcastle who’d been over achieving all season as Arsenal had turned itself around and were threatening to pull ahead of them. They’d finished top of their group in the Champions League on goal difference.

Fernando had moved back into the house permanently. Olalla had even allowed him back into the bedroom, but only on his side of the bed. He tried in every way he could to make life easier for her. Insisting she take trips up to Liverpool as often as she wanted to visit old friends, or invite anyone she wanted to stay. He got up with the kids in the middle of the night whenever he was home, and never left his dirty socks on the floor.

And he was beginning to see the satisfaction in a well settled household. He realized that it wasn’t just a place to come to escape the pressures of the outside world, but something to take pride in and make his own. On free afternoons, he and Nora would head out to Home Base and loaded up the cart with things to improve the house. Nora was an excellent judge of lighting fixtures and had definite opinions on tile flooring. He also learned that David Luiz’s grandfather had been a plumber, and the curly haired Brazilian came over one Sunday and helped him replace the faucet in the master bathroom that Olalla had always hated.

“Thank god I married you before you became so handy around the house,” Olalla said, kissing his temple as he tightened the screws on the new door handle to the patio. “You’d never have married me otherwise.”

He beamed at her. “It’s for us.”

She nodded. “Thank you.”

With life at home settled, Fernando began to see holes in his professional life. He’d been scoring the odd goal, and certainly doing his part to help in other areas, but he just wasn’t making the impact on the pitch that would make him invaluable to the team.

The press had slacked off in their abuse of him, mostly because it was no longer entertaining to beat him down, but he knew that it was boredom, not improvement that made them forgive him.

But what could he do? He was training every day. He put in his full effort, didn’t stand around and wait for the ball to come to him. He listened to what Andre told him and accepted the criticisms of the staff and tried not to take any of it personally.

And while no one seemed to be suggesting, as yet, that he be sold, he knew that in January he could be, and the fact that he wasn’t really living up to his transfer fee might get him shown the door.

That was a failure that he was not willing to accept.

* * * *

After a sound thrashing of Barcelona in December, Real Madrid started to feel like their current run of form was not a fluke, and that they really had what it took to win it all this year. They finished the group stages of the Champions League on maximum points and most people were talking about Munich like it was a done deal.

Mesut’s world was amazing at the moment. He and Sami were good, back to their old antics at training. He was spending a lot of time with Sergio again, and while he knew he shouldn’t think about it, the dream of the two of them being together made for some very warm nights alone in his bed.

Sergio was just so beautiful and carefree in a way Mesut never was himself. Sergio never seemed to have second thoughts about anything, and when Sergio turned up at the team Christmas party in a mauve pantsuit, everyone just looked at him and shrugged. Sergio.

At said party, Mesut joined Iker and Sergio who were telling Cristiano about their annual captain’s brunch with Perez.

“God you should see Iker kiss ass at these things,” Sergio laughed. “He used to sit back and let Raul and Guti do all the talking, and now he feels like he has to talk for everyone at the table.”

“To keep you from opening your mouth!” Iker protested. “Last week he asked Perez about the possibility of a team spa room and I thought Perez was going to choke on his own tongue.”

“I like that idea,” Cristiano agreed.

“The team will perform better with regular pedicures!” Sergio said with a laugh. “We already have a masseuse! How hard would it be to add facials to the routine?”

“Facials?” Mesut asked with a grin. “Are you saying my skin is less than perfect?”

“Mostly I was talking to the oil slick over here.”

Cristiano laughed out loud. “I told you! I have a skin condition.”

“Yes, it’s called find a different moisturizer!”

Mesut laughed with them, loving the interactions and feeling a part of the team. He looked over and found Sami chatting with Jose and his wife, and the two of them shared a smile.

Mesut and Sami were flying back to Germany together in the morning. They had five days off for the holiday, and while his family didn’t strictly celebrate Christmas, they did take part in some of the cultural rituals that were embedded in German culture. He and his siblings had planned an outing to a Christmas market, and his mother was already planning to pamper him silly. He had stacks of gifts wedged into cases to take, and more he’d had delivered to his parents’ house that he would have to unbox and wrap before Christmas eve the day after tomorrow.

He had everything but the one thing he really wished he could unwrap under his tree.

Sergio touched his arm and smiled at him. “Come with me to get another drink?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be driving me home?” Mesut questioned as they made their way to the bar.

“I am,” Sergio said. “That’s why I’m getting you another drink so I can be sure you’re good and drunk so I can take advantage of you.”

Mesut flushed.

Sergio’s fingers brushed against Mesut’s back. “Let’s just say I have a little Christmas gift in mind for you.”

“For me?” Mesut said as the air refused to come into his lungs. Oh my god. Oh my god was Sergio suggesting what Meust thought he was suggesting because he really really wanted him to be but then again the thought terrified him all at the same time.

But Sergio seemed to take no notice as he ordered Mesut another glass of wine while Mesut managed to start breathing again and he was so thankful for the jacket he wore which covered the fact that his body really really wanted to open his gift now.

Sergio gave him his wine and a kiss on the cheek. “Better go put in my duty to the board,” he said as he slipped away.

Any other time Mesut might have been sorry to see him go, but for the moment, he was just glad to have a moment to compose himself. He found an unoccupied table and sat as he took several deep breaths.

“Having fun?” Sami said, sneaking up on Mesut and giving him a start.

“Hell, Sami!” he said with a laugh, and Sami joined him at the table.

“These team parties always make me crazy. I see these same people every day in training gear or naked in the shower. Looking at them dressed up makes me nervous,” Sami confided as he scanned the room.

“It’s not natural, is it?”

“It’s really not. I think we need to have a team party some time where everyone just turns up in their track suits and drinks beer out of bottles. Then we could actually relax.”

“That actually sounds like fun.” Mesut thought about it. “Maybe a pool party at Sergio’s.”

“I’m in,” Sami agreed. “I know I should get home and get some sleep after this as I’m certain my mother has my whole life planned for the next several days, but I feel like going out. Want to go do something?”

“Uh,” Mesut said as he tried to think of something to say. He didn’t want to lie to Sami, but neither did he want to admit what he was fairly sure was going to happen that night. Sami wouldn’t approve. “I’m gonna head home.”

Sami raised an eyebrow. “Home or over to Sergio’s?”

“Ah…”

Sami sighed. “You can tell me these things Mes. I’m not going to lie and say I’m happy about you and Sergio, but you know I love you and you can make your own decisions.”

Mesut felt ashamed of himself. “I know, I just.”

“Hey,” Sami said as he looked Mesut in the eye. “We’re best friends, right?”

“Right,” Mesut said. “And I know you worry about me, but I want this.”

“I know you do,” Sami said, and there was a touch of sadness in his eyes. “And I really hope it’s everything you want it to be.”

“Me too,” Mesut said. And it would be. Sergio was…

“And on that note,” Sami said, squeezing his hand, and Mesut realized Sergio was headed their way, “I’ll pick you up at seven tomorrow?”

“Seven,” Mesut agreed with a smile as Sami nodded to Sergio and made his exit.

“Who the hell books a flight that early on purpose?” Sergio wondered. “There are lovely flights to Germany in the afternoon!”

“Trust me,” Mesut said. “If I delayed getting home by even an hour, my mother would never forgive me.”

“Yeah, mine will be here by noon tomorrow,” Sergio agreed. “Mothers.” 

Mesut grinned.

“You ready to get out of her?” Sergio asked.

“So ready.”

* * * *

Guti knew that is wasn’t customary for a manager to pick a new player up at the airport. They certainly had any number of lackeys who could handle the task, but Guti felt like since he was personally responsible for bringing Esteban to Besiktas, he should make an effort.

That and he was really excited Esteban would be joining him. Besiktas was undefeated during his reign as manager, though the draws were numerous. They just needed a little something extra and Guti was certain Esteban was that something.

He had tried to bring Esteban in under the radar, remember the circus that was his arrival in Istanbul, but as he pulled his car up to the terminal, he realized he’d seriously underestimated the Turkish press once again.

Guti ducked into the airport unnoticed, but when he got to the gate, he found Esteban surrounded but them, looking more than a little unnerved.

“Este!”

Esteban turned to see Guti and relief washed over his features. “Thank god.”

Guti grinned and grabbed his arms. Muttering in Spanish, he said. “I’m sorry, I thought they wouldn’t know.”

“Come on, Guti. They know everything!” Esteban laughed as he and Guti plowed through the crowd, not pausing to talk to anyway. Guti shouted at them in his limited Turkish that Esteban would be presented tomorrow at the stadium, but it didn’t get the vultures to back off an inch.

When they finally made it to Guti’s car, they slammed the doors and let out a sigh in unison. Then the cracked up.

“Welcome to Turkey.”

“Oh my god, I liked it in Madrid where no one gave a crap about me!” Esteban said, catching his breath.

“Oh god, I wish no one gave a crap about me. I thought the press were bad when I was just a player. I can’t even go out to buy toilet paper without people wanting my opinions on the best brand to buy.”

“Obviously the double ply,” Esteban grinned at him.

“Oh good, because that’s what I’ve got in the house,” Guti joked as they made their way across the busy city. Esteban had been a couple of weeks ago to have his medical and sign papers, but he still looked out at the city in awe. Esteban was going to be living with Guti for at least the first month or so, at least until he got his bearings and found a flat to rent. In truth, Guti wondered if the young man would just want to stay with him for the whole five months he was here. It seemed silly to mess with setting up house when you knew you weren’t going to be staying.

Of course, he’d stay with Guti as long as the older man didn’t make him crazy. Guti had been told more than once that he wasn’t the easiest person to live with. Hell, he made himself crazy some times.

But he was hoping things worked out with Esteban. To tell the truth, Guti had an actual crush on the young man. This was something rather new to Guti. Or he supposed something old. God, when was the last time he’d had a crush, not just picked some one out and started fucking them? He supposed he and his wife had an actual courtship. Arachna wouldn’t sleep with him for three months, which had nearly made Guti crazy. In the end, she probably knew what she was doing, but then she went and married him anyway.

Guti pulled into the drive of his house. Esteban looked up at the large, white structure and grinned. “I bet everything inside is white too, just like your place in Madrid.”

Guti laughed. “Of course it is. Once Blanco, always Blanco.”

“How do you get the red wine stains out of the carpet?”

“Hardwood floors.”

 

Day 17

The Chelsea squad gathered in the dressing room prior to their big clash versus Manchester United in early February. They simply had to win this match. They’d managed an undefeated run in January, and were pushing for the top of the table. A win today would bring them within one point of league leaders Manchester City, and a loss would drop them to third behind United.

“Alright lads, we all know what this match means,” John said as the room grew quiet. “Anyone got anything to say?”

It was a Chelsea tradition that John had started when he had been made captain under Jose Mourinho in 2004, that the manager cleared out just before kick off, and the players had their own pep talk, usually led by John, but he always threw it out for anyone else to do if they so chose. John really did them best, though Frank’s were pretty good. Fernando had never offered.

However, today, when John’s eyes met Fernando’s, he stood.

“I do.”

John nodded to him and took a seat.

Fernando took a deep breath. It was time to stop being a passive player on the pitch. It was time to take responsibility for his own destiny.

Today.

“Like John said, we all know what today means. But today is not about Manchester United. We cannot let them come into our house and make themselves the most important part of this game. We are the most important part of this game: Chelsea.”

The players were nodded with him, and emboldened, Fernando continued. “This is our house. This is our match. And they’re just here make up some numbers. So you make sure that every ball out there is yours. You make sure that every inch of that pitch is yours. You make sure you defend that net like it is yours and not theirs. They do not get to walk into Stamford Bridge and tell us how to play a game. This is our house.”

“Yeah,” Ashley Cole said as he clapped his hands. “This is our house.”

The rest of the team joined in the cheer and it became a deafening roar in the changing room. Fernando’s heart swelled. 

This was his team. This was his home. And he would make sure no one spoiled their party today.

Brimming with confidence, the team emerged from the dressing room. Fernando was starting, and he lined up with the rest of the team, not even glancing to his left to see the Manchester United players standing there. They were no one.

The game began and Fernando exploded across the pitch. Oh. He was on. He could feel it.

“Come on!” Fernando called to Raul when he lost the ball. Raul nodded and took off again, neatly tackling a red shirt and taking it back, feeding it over to Fernando.

Fernando’s mind was blank as he sprinted ahead, ball at his feet. Several red blurs entered his peripheral vision, but he didn’t even slow as he carried the ball with him. He tapped it across to Juan who was wide open to his left, and then dashed into an empty space as the too slow defense closed on Juan. The ball came back to him on a silver platter, and he slammed it home.

1-0

He was surrounded by exuberant blue shirts and was tackled to the ground. He was laughing as they piled on him. The stadium erupted with cheers. God this was good.

Stunned, Manchester United spent the next eight-five minutes chasing after the Chelsea players, led by Fernando, who were playing with a spirit that had been lacking. Fernando was on every ball, encouraging his teammates, swearing at every missed pass, jumping for joy as he fed Frank a gorgeous goal, and Juan dropped a corner kick right onto John’s forehead.

3-0

The final whistle blew, and the stadium came to its feed, cheering the team. Fernando stood and applauded the fans.

Fortress Stamford Bridge was once again secured.

“Holy shit,” John found him and hugged him tightly. “I fucking do NOT know what you had for breakfast today, but you will have it every day the rest of the season.”

Fernando laughed as the team started to add to the hug, and soon every Chelsea player was surrounding him. “I didn’t do anything. You guys made it happen.”

“Bullshit,” Frank said. “You led us today.”

John pulled the armband from his arm, and wrapped it around Fernando’s bicep. “I name thee Captain Torres.”

Tears welled in Fernando’s eyes. “Thank you.”

He had done this. He had gotten his team motivated. He had made the difference.

And he wasn’t stopping.

* * * *

Day 18

 

Besitktas started to win all of their matches in a rather convincing manner. Esteban came to life getting regular starts. The rest of the players had begun to respect Guti as their manager and trust the decisions he made on the pitch. He had stopped putting himself in the starting line up, having realized that he couldn't see everything he needed to from the pitch. He put himself in at the half if he thought he needed to liven things up, but in the last couple of matches, he really wasn't needed. 

Next to him on the bench was Zeki. He's started out as just his translator, should he need to talk to players or the referees and make himself perfectly clear, but Zeki had started offering advice on the matches, and Guti had quickly realized that Zeki knew the game very well, and even better than that, he knew a lot about the other teams and players. Guti didn't need scouting reports if he had Zeki on the bench.

And he trusted the man implicitly.

"Match in Spain this week," he told Zeki with a grin. "Don't suppose you know anything about Athletic Bilbao, do you?"

They were in his office, reviewing last week's matches, getting ready for the midweek clash.

"It is your job to know the Spanish clubs," Zeki said with a cheeky grin.

There was a knock on the door. Esteban's head appeared.

"Ah, here's our expert on the Spanish clubs," Guti said with a grin at Esteban.

"You mean you don't have a scouting report on Bilbao?" Esteban asked.

"Baby, we're lucky we're not accidentally flying to Germany this week." He was cheerful on the outside, but inside, he felt a stab of emotion. Besiktas might have to face Schalke soon in the Europa League elimination stages. He'd been so busy over the holidays, he hadn't gotten a chance to take the kids over to Raul and Mamen's as they usually did. In fact, he hadn't seen Raul at all since that day at the Bernabeu.

Esteban laughed. "I'm getting ready to head home. You coming?"

"Yeah, give me a minute." Guti turned to Zeki. "We're good for tomorrow?"

"We meet here at eight, flight leaves at eleven," Zeki nodded. 

"Great. Go home," Guti ordered. Zeki was a dedicated employee and he'd convinced the board to give him a considerable raise, but he didn't get home to his wife and kids enough, in Guti's opinion.

Guti and Esteban made their way to the parking lot. Esteban had settled in nicely to living with Guti, and as much as Guti wanted more out of the relationship, his new found sense of adultness was holding him back. The old Guti, as he liked to refer to himself, would have fucked Esteban into the mattress and worried about the consequences later. The new Guti knew he needed to keep his player happy, and if Guti fucked this up, he'd have no lover and no central midfielder, and very possibly no job.

Sex was good, but new Guti knew that a job was better.

"You want to pick something up for dinner?" Guti asked as he unlocked the truck.

"Are we allowed to get stuff at that place on the corner?" Esteban asked hopefully. There was the most amazing little family run place near Guti's house that made some of the most amazing Turkish cuisine. There was no menu. The husband and wife just made whatever they could find freshest at the marketplace. It was divine.

The only problem was is that it was so not healthy according to the diet for a professional athlete. 

Guti gave Esteban a look. "We have a big match on Thursday."

"I know," Esteban said and gave him his big brown eyes. "Please?"

Guti shook his head. "Fine, but if the have that once lamb dish, you are not allowed to have any of it."

"Alright," Esteban agreed happily.

"God, you're worse than my kids," Guti grumbled good naturally.

"I cleaned my room," Esteban teased. In truth, Guti found Esteban to be the best roommate he'd ever had in his life. Esteban did keep his room cleaned, did his share of the cooking and cleaning around the house, and even liked to do the shopping which Guti some times found tedious.

"Alright, no spankings tonight then."

They brought home several full bags from the restaurant, even the lamb dish, and grabbed a nice bottle of red from the corner shop. They laid everything out on the kitchen table, turned on some music, and worked their way through everything.

"I'm so glad I came to Istanbul," Esteban sighed as he and Guti relocated to the couch with the last of the wine.

"God, if you'd asked me that this time last year, I'd have said I hated it here. But since I was made manager and you've been here, it's been amazing."

Esteban smiled warmly. "Don't you still miss Raul?"

Guti glanced at Esteban over his wine glass. He cleared his throat. "Raul and I broke up."

Esteban's eyes got wide. "You did?"

"Yeah," Guti said as he tried not to look at Esteban. His radar was telling him that Esteban asking these questions wasn't innocent, and as much as he really, really wanted Esteban, he couldn't have him. Not while they were in Istanbul. "I mean, I still love him and all, but it's time, you know? He's married and all, and I needed to grow up."

"Guti? Grow up?"

There was teasing in Esteban's tone. Guti pushed back his hair and looked up. "Hey, it happens."

"You're really different now," Esteban agreed, trapping Guti with his eyes. 

Guti swallowed hard. 

Esteban reached out and touched Guti's hand that lay on the back of the sofa. His fingers toyed with Guti's. "I used to think you were kinda arrogant and immature."

"Aren't you sweet," Guti said as he knew he should pull his hand away. He knew he should make and excuse and leave the room.

"I guess to be fair, I never really knew you before. Not really," Esteban laced his fingers into Guti's. "You intimidated me."

"And I don't now?"

"No," Esteban said. "Not at all."

Esteban leaned forward and pressed his lips into Guti's.

Guti was helpless to resist.

 

Day 19

Sex with Sergio was maybe the best thing Mesut had ever experienced in his life. Sergio was a thorough, passionate lover, who left Mesut a quivering mass every time he came over.

And he’d started coming over to Mesut’s rather regularly for sex. Some times they’d have dinner first, but more often Sergio just pulled him up stairs and fucked him. Mesut loved it every time.

But what he was starting not to love was the fact that Sergio never stayed. They’d been sleeping together since Christmas and never once had Sergio spent the night. 

As Mesut lay half asleep in his sweaty, sticky sheets one cold February morning, he started to wonder if he was ever going to mean more to Sergio than just an easy fuck that lived next door.

He closed his eyes to ward off the ugly thought. Sergio was not using him. He wasn’t. Sergio cared about him. And it wasn’t like Sergio told him he had to keep things quiet. They weren’t all over each other at training or anything, no more than usual banter, but that was because professional footballer were not allowed to be openly gay, not because Sergio was ashamed of him.

Sergio did care about him. You couldn’t make love to someone the way Sergio did and not care, Mesut told himself.

As he couldn’t shut off his mind, he got up to change the sheets. He had a maid who came in once a week and did the linens, but Mesut always felt a little ashamed that the nice Spanish woman would come and find his sheets in the state they were after Sergio was over. So he washed the sheets and replaced them with new, even very neatly folding the clean ones very carefully the way his grandmother had taught him, so that maybe the woman didn’t notice they’d been changed several times over the week.

He put the dirty sheets in the washer and turned it on and then collected new from the linens closet. As he walked through the kitchen, his bare feet freezing on the tiles, he saw it was five am. 

His dad had gotten up at 5 am when he was a kid to go to work. His mother had gotten up at 6 to get the kids ready for school. Then she went to work and his dad was home after they got home to take them to training or matches. When Mesut would get home to do his homework, his mother was cooking or cleaning. They worked so hard their whole lives.

And what was Mesut doing? Yes, he worked very hard at his football, but here he was at 5 am with nothing to do but hide his shame. When his father was 23, he’d been married, with kids and a home.

Mesut had a ridiculously large house he didn’t need. He didn’t clean it himself, though he certainly had the time, and he only cooked for himself a couple of times a week and that was always for fun. His mother cooked a good healthy dinner for six people every single night.

Mesut started to wash the dishes left over from dinner the night before. He did them by hand. His mother had never had a dishwasher, unless it was him or his siblings. 

When the dishes were done, he changed over the laundry and went to make his bed. He ended up cleaning his bathroom, organizing his closet, and then putting away the clean sheets.

When he finally fell into bed at seven am, exhaustion claimed him, and he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

* * * *

“Fuck it’s cold,” Mata complained as he pulled on the thick thermal gloves Fernando had given him for Christmas.

“You’re wishing you were still in Valencia, now,” Raul Miereles teased him as he pinched Mata’s bright red ears.

Mata swatted him away as Fernando laughed. He was so used to English winters now, he didn’t much think about it. He had on his stocking cap and gloves, but he was well used to not feeling his knees between November and March. Here is the frosty February, he didn’t even notice.

“It think it’s rather funny though that the British lads seem to be the most bundled up,” Raul said as he took in Frank Lampard stretching by himself over in the corner of the pitch. Training didn’t officially start for another ten minutes, but the dedicated midfielder was always the first to start and the last to finish up.

“Why is he by himself,” Juan wondered as he covered his ears with his hat and blew on his hands. 

“John not out yet?” Fernando speculated as Frank and John usually got things started together.

“Didn’t you hear?” Raul said, his voice lowering to a gossipy whisper. “They broke up.”

“Are you kidding?” Juan said too loudly and both Fernando and Raul gave him looks. He lowered his voice. “But how can they break up. It’s like David and David breaking up. Raul and Guti.”

“Raul and Guti broke up months ago,” Fernando said, having heard the news from Alvaro Arbeloa a couple of weeks ago.

“Raul and Guti broke up!?” Juan said with a wail. “But, they can’t!”

Raul chuckled at the despondent Mata. Fernando wondered for a moment how people had reacted to the news that he and Sergio finally called it quits. They were Sernando. According to Alvie, Sergio was now with Mesut Ozil a lot, and still Iker occasionally. 

Fernando realized that the thought of Sergio’s other lovers no longer made jealousy flare up in his heart. Was he over Sergio? Finally?

He thought about his wife and kids, and there was the emotion. The thought of Nora and the pink tutu she now insisted on wearing all day, everyday. He and Olalla had eased it off of her last night after she’d fallen asleep, washed it, and then eased it back on her before she woke up this morning to save themselves the tantrum. He grinned at the thought. God he loved that girl.

Raul was talking, and Nando clued back in, “Apparently Frank’s fiance gave him the ultimatum that she wasn’t marrying him as long as he was still with John but we all know that John isn’t leaving his wife any time soon as she doesn’t even seem to care he cheats on her all the time and with the kids to consider and all, so if Frank gave up Christine for John, then all he has is half of John’s time if he’s lucky and John has his cake and eats it too.”

Fernando blinked. “You need to set up a gossip column, I’m not even kidding.”

“When did this happen?” Juan wondered.

“Three days ago.”

“Fuck, we can’t have our team captains having a lovers quarrel!” Juan fretted. “Oh my GOD things were bad at Valencia when Carlos and Juan fought.”

Fernando noticed Mata was seriously close to tears. “You think it will affect their play?”

“Nando, it’s like mummy and daddy are fighting,” Raul said earnestly. “It’s gonna affect things.”

“We have to get them back together!” Juan agreed and nodded.

“How?” Fernando said, not even able to believe he was letting himself get dragged into this. “We’re hardly going to convince Frank’s fiance it’s okay for him to cheat on her, and I’m so not going to be responsible for breaking up John’s marriage!”

“There has to be a way,” Juan said. “There just has to be!”

* * * *

Making love to Esteban had been down right magical for Guti. And waking up with him again the next morning, looking each other in the eye in the bright sunlight, neither of them turning away in any guilt or shame was one of the most perfect moments of Guti’s life, right up there with the birth of his children.

They had agreed that they couldn’t let this relationship outside of their house for right now. There was no shame, but reality. If gay footballers were shoved under the carpet in Spain, they would be outright run out of town in Istanbul. There had been an uproar Guti’s first season in Turkey when he’d been filmed hugging his own father. They would ignore Esteban living in Guti’s house only so long as it appeared that the two were nothing more than player and manager, friends at most.

The board at Beskitas was pressuring Guti to sign on for another year, but he was reluctant. He knew Esteban wanted to return to Real and in truth, as wonderful as things were in Turkey, losing Esteban would kill him. He’d done long distance for too long, and that he had Esteban in his house, he never wanted to do that again. Ever.

Maybe it was too soon to be thinking about forever, but Guti was in love. In actually love. And his life was so good. He was hoping in the back of his mind that a managing position would open up in Madrid. He didn’t even begin to imagine that Real would have him, but there were other sides in Madrid. How amazing would it be if they could live and work in Madrid together?

Besiktas sat at top of the Turkish table, and beat Althetic Bilbao to advance to the next round of the Europa Cup. The draw in the next round had seen them pulled against Schalke.

He’d wanted to text Raul and make some comment, but he hadn’t. He didn’t know what he would say. Though it was the perfect opportunity to open the relationship again. In truth, he was dying to share his love for Esteban with Raul, but didn’t know how Raul would take it. His old friend had been gracious enough about the break up, but would he think that Guti was gloating in his face with his new lover?

“You’re thinking too hard,” Esteban said as he walked into Guti’s office at the end of the day. Esteban had taken to helping out with the Besiktas youth team while waiting for Guti to finish his work each day, and always had to come and pry Guti away from his desk.

Guti looked up and smiled at him. “Schalke next week.”

“Ah,” Esteban said as he took a seat across from Guti. “You haven’t talked to him, have you?”

Guti loved so much that Esteban knew exactly what he was worried about. “I haven’t.”

“You should. You’ll see him there, and you need to talk to him before then.”

Tears prickled at the back of Guti’s eyes. “I’ve never played against him. We’ve always been on the same side.”

Esteban nodded. “I can’t imagine how hard it will be.”

“I’ll call him when we get home,” Guti decided. He didn’t want to make the call here in the office. Too many ears. Then a thought occurred to him. “Is that okay?”

“Of course it is,” Esteban assured him. “I don’t doubt you.”

Guti had to bite his lip not to tell Esteban he loved him. Because he did. So. Much.

 

Day 20

Champions League. Real Madrid was facing Manchester City this week in the round of 16. It was a tough draw to be sure. Everyone expected that Real would win, but Mesut knew that Manchester had momentum on their side. They were riding high on top of the Premiere League, and they really had nothing to lose when it came to the Champions League. Real had the weight of expectations on them.

“You look nauseous,” Sami teased him as Mesut jumped up and down, trying to stay warm in the cold Manchester evening. It was the first leg of the tie, and while tonight didn’t mean everything, taking a lead back to Madrid would be good.

“I just saw your face,” Mesut shot back.

Sami laughed out loud as he bent down to stretch his calves. “You are so cute.”

“Sexy,” Sergio offered with a grin at Mesut.

“I’m gonna go stand by Marcelo if you two don’t stop sexually harassing me.” Mesut was rather proud he’d gotten out that sentence in Spanish.

“Come over here you cutie little German,” Marcelo beckoned. 

“No!” Mesut squeaked as he pulled away from Sami and Sergio who’d both reached for him. “Help!”

“Come here,” Gonzalo said as he reached over and pulled Mesut between him and Di Maria. Mesut was laughing as Sergio was giving him a pouty face with an ‘I’ll deal with you later’ gleam in his eye.

Yes please, Mesut thought and then tried to stop as football shorts did nothing to hide his thoughts.

Gonzalo grabbed his shoulder and balanced himself to stretch his quad. He glanced over his shoulder and then looked directly at Mesut. 

“So what, you have both Sami and Sergio at your beck and call?”

Mesut was pretty sure that Gonzalo was teasing, but there was a slight edge to his tone. “What? No! Sami’s just my friend.”

“Really?” Gonzalo sounded genuinely surprised. “God, everyone assumes that the two of you are together, which I have to say, is why we were all confused when you started up with Ramos.”

Mesut goggled at Gonzalo. “You all...talk about that stuff?”

“Of course we do,” Gonzalo shrugged. “You can’t talk about football all day.”

A wave of indignation rolled over Mesut. “What, just because a person likes guys automatically makes him a whore?”

“Lord, you’re touchy,” Gonzalo grumbled. “I was joking.”

“Oh,” Mesut said. “Sorry.”

Gonzalo switched legs. “Everyone thought that you and Sami were really cute together and all. You’re both nice guys. I just wondered why you got involved with Sergio.”

“Sergio’s not nice?”

Gonzalo sighed. “Don’t get me wrong, I love Ramos. Everyone does. And he loves everyone. But you’re just not the kind of guy that seems like you’d be okay with Ramos loving everyone, you know?”

Mesut felt that familiar pit in his stomach open up again. “I keep hoping he’ll change.”

Gonzalo’s eyes softened and he leaned in to kiss Mesut on the cheek. “Oh, Mes. Guys like Sergio never change.”

 

* * * *

Fernando and Frank both found themselves in the training room after a hard fought FA Cup match against a plucky West Brom. Fernando’s bad knees was acting up and Frank’s thigh was strained. They lay on adjoining tables, abandoned by the trainer who told them to lie still with the heating pads on them.

“Is it a good thing that our head trainer smokes?” Frank wondered with a yawn.

“Is that where he always goes?” Fernando asked as he caught Frank’s yawn and echoed it with one of his own. It had been a long away trip in the rain, and he’d come home late to two kids with colds. He’d sent an exhausted, sick Olalla to bed and wiped noses until dawn.

“Yes,” Frank said. “Can’t you smell it on him when he gets back?”

“I can’t smell anything over that cream he uses.”

Frank chuckled and closed his eyes. Fernando followed suit, certain he was about to fall into a deep sleep, when Frank spoke again.

“Fernando, can I ask you a personal question?”

Fernando opened his eyes. “Sure, I guess.”

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want.”

“Okay.” Fernando was intrigued. He’d known the English midfielder for quite a while now, but the two of them had never had much deeper conversation than the time they’d discussed the place of the monarchy in modern society.

“You...you and Ramos.”

Fernando’s guard went up. “What about him?”

“You and he are...close, right?”

“We used to be,” Fernando said. “For a long time, actually.”

“Yeah?” Frank asked. “So how did that...work?”

“Do you mean how did I juggle my lover and my wife?” Fernando bluntly replied. He could appreciate that Frank wanted to be delicate about the situation, but he’d never been good at subtlety. Olalla reminded him of this regularly.

“Yeah,” Frank said. “I suppose you’ve heard about John and I.”

“Sure,” Fernando said, resisting the urge to say ‘everyone knows Frank’.

“I mean, you and Olalla are so great, and the kids...”

“I almost threw it all away,” Fernando said quietly. “Sergio and I were together forever, and then I was with Olalla, and she knew about Sergio, but she knew he meant a lot to me, and didn’t say anything. But then she got pregnant and life changed. She said I had to make a choice.”

“She gave you an ultimatum?” Frank asked, seeming to want to grab onto something.

“She had a right to. If we were going to make a family, I had to let go of Sergio. So I said I would. We had Nora and got married, but letting go of Sergio wasn’t that easy.”

Frank was looking sad. “I love him.”

“I know,” Fernando said. “But you just can’t have it all.”

“He does,” Frank said, slightly bitter.

“I doubt it,” Fernando said. “I can’t imagine life in that house is really all that good. Maybe they just stay together for the kids. And maybe they make it work for the kids, but it’s not a real marriage. Not when he still comes to you.”

“So you and Sergio...”

“I finally ended it about six months ago. Did you know she left me? Took the kids?”

Frank nodded. “You were a wreck there for a couple weeks.”

“I was. Because as much as I loved Sergio, I love her and the kids more. And she deserved more than to have me cheat.”

“I feel like I owe the girls a mother,” Frank said quietly. “I mean, she’s lovely and all and I do care about her, but mostly I feel like I need to make a home for them.”

“They still have their mother,” Fernando said gently. “What ever didn’t work between the two of you, they still have her. All you have to do is be their father, and if being with John is what makes you the best father you can be, then that’s where you need to be.”

“Is it really that easy?” Frank said hopefully.

“No,” Fernando laughed. “It’s hard every single day. But if you commit to the life you want, the rest of it falls into place the way it should.”

* * * *

Esteban laid a hand on Guti’s knee that was shaking. “Breathe.”

“What?” Guti said as he looked over at Esteban. They were on the plane to Germany and their first leg match against Schalke.

“It’s going to be fine.”

“I’m going over to dinner tonight,” Guti said even though he was fully aware that Esteban already knew his plans. The team was arriving Tuesday evening, and Guti had given himself permission to go to Raul and Mamen’s for dinner.

“And it’s going to be fine. He wouldn’t have invited you if he wasn’t ready to see you.”

“Come with me,” Guti said suddenly. He’d never thought about it before, but having Esteban there would make things easier. Probably.

“Are you sure?” Esteban asked, lowering his voice even though it was impossible that anyone could overhear them on the plane. They were all absorbed in their own music or movies anyway.

“Yes,” Guti said with a nod. “Besides, you know Raul and Mamen too. No one would even question why you were going.”

Esteban nodded, but still looked unsure.

“I need you,” Guti said quietly. “You make me make better decisions about things.”

Esteban gave him an affectionate smile. “I didn’t change you. You changed yourself.”

“But you made it all worthwhile.”

* * * *

Sergio walked into Mesut’s house late the night (or was it early morning?) of their 1-0 victory at Manchester City. It hadn’t been an easy one, and the Real defense had given the performance of their careers.

“Damn that was a good game,” Sergio said as he helped himself to a bottle of water out of Mesut’s fridge.

Mesut stood at the counter, looking over his mail the housekeeper had brought in for their two days away, unable to look up at Sergio. You have to say something, his mind said, even as his heart begged him not to. He’s not going to say the things you need to hear, it said. He’s never going to give you the commitment you want.

“Why so serious?” Sergio purred as he kissed Mesut’s neck. “No more serious Mesut. Let Sergio take that frown off your face.”

Mesut pulled away. “Not tonight.”

Sergio gave him a pout. “How about tomorrow morning?”

“Maybe,” Mesut hedged, not wanting to tell Sergio no again.

“Good, it’s morning already,” Sergio went in again, and this time Mesut pushed him away.

“Sergio!”

“Mesut!” Sergio said, exasperated as he shoved back his hair. “What the fuck?”

“Am I ever going to mean anything more to you than an easily accessible fuck?” Mesut’s words came out in a muddled rush.

With a sigh and a slump of his shoulders, Sergio backed off. “I wondered when this was coming.”

“When what?”

“You getting all hurt bunny,” Sergio said.

The words stung. “I’m not getting all hurt bunny. I’m simply asking you, do you ever see this being any more than fucking?” Mesut looked Sergio dead in the eye as his heart raced. Part of him wanted Sergio say yes, yes they could be more, yes, I love you like you love me. But the other part screamed at him, ‘you’re fucking this up for no reason!’

“Why does it need to be?” Sergio asked with a shrug. “I like you Mes. You’re fun and hell, you’re a great lay, but honestly. Where could it go?”

Mesut stared at him. Sergio wasn’t being cruel. He was just... 

“I don’t know,” Mesut said. “I just feel so cheap that you sleep with everyone under the sun and...”

“I do not sleep with everyone under the sun!” Sergio said as he looked slightly indignant. “It’s just you and...a couple others.”

“But that’s it!” Mesut said. “It’s always a couple others. Why can’t it just be me?”

“Mes,” Sergio sighed. “I get it, but that’s just not me.”

“What if that’s what I need?” Mesut asked, and he was afraid he might be begging.

“Then maybe we should end this,” Sergio said. “If you need more than this, then you need to go find it someplace else.”

“But I don’t want anyone but you,” Mesut said even as the tears welled up. “I want you, Sergio.”

“I just don’t roll like that,” Sergio said, not moving to comfort Mesut at all. He edged slightly to the door. “Look, I’m not saying we can’t fuck, but you have to know that’s it. I thought you got that.”

Mesut shrugged. “I guess.”

“I’m gonna go,” Sergio said and gestured lamely.

“Don’t.”

Sergio sighed. “I’m not that guy, Mes.”

Fat, hot tears rolled down Mesut’s face as Sergio walked out of his house. He wasn’t sure if it was because Sergio had left today or because Mesut had set his heart on something he knew he couldn’t have.

* * * *

Day 21

“Guti! It’s so good to see you! And Esteban!” Mamen’s face registered slight surprise as she saw the young Spaniard in her doorway.

“He was feeling homesick and I told him you’d make him a meal to rival anything his mother made,” Guti said as he kissed her cheek.

“I don’t think he realizes what a bad cook my mother is,” Esteban said with a grin and Mamen laughed.

“I should be insulted, then?”

“Definitely.”

“GUTI! GUTI! GUTI! GUTI! GUTI! GUTI! GUTI! GUTI!” Five pairs of feet came thundering down the hall at him.

“Where’s Aitor? You haven’t been here forever! Where’s Zayra! GUTI!”

Guti laughed as he was hugged Raul and Maman’s brood. “They’re back in Spain! You’ll have to come and see them at Easter.”

Guti was dragged into the lounge where the kids were supposedly doing their homework, if the books lying around were anything to go by. Esteban followed as Mamen went to check on dinner.

“You should get Esteban to check your homework. He’s well clever,” Guti told Jorge.

Jorge observed the curly haired man. “You’re Esteban Granero.” It was nearly an accusation.

“I am.”

“You play for Besiktas.”

“Just til the end of the season,” Esteban said.

“Then you’ll go back to Madrid?”

“Most likely, yes.”

Jorge nodded as though he approved and handed over a text book. “It’s in German.”

“Good thing I speak German,” Esteban said as he looked down at the math problems.

Jorge’s eyes grew reverent. Guti could see that Esteban had himself a new fan. As Esteban puzzled over the math, Guti looked up and saw Raul standing in the doorway.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” Guti replied as he got up from where Maria was showing him her new doll.

“I’m glad you came,” Raul said as he hugged Guti tightly. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too, amor.”

Raul pulled Guti into the laundry room where it was quiet. “When you said we had to stop fucking, I didn’t think it meant I’d never hear from you again.”

“Oh Raul,” Guti said as he reached for Raul to hug him again. “I didn’t mean to push you out of my life. But I needed to think, and then I’ve been so busy with everything.”

“I understand,” Raul said soothingly. “And I was so glad when you called me. I wanted to give you space, but you weren’t getting any more space if I had to storm into the Besiktas dressing room tomorrow and demand to speak with you.”

Guti smiled against Raul’s shoulder. “I would have come willingly.”

There was a moment of easy comfort between the two of them.

Finally, Raul spoke. “Esteban?”

Guti pulled back. He searched Raul’s face and found only love. “Oh Raul. He’s...he’s everything I need.”

Raul smiled. “You are in love, Jose Maria.”

“A little, yeah,” Guti blushed.

“It makes you beautiful,” Raul kissed his cheek. “If I haven’t said it yet, I am so happy for you and your success at Besiktas.”

“That means more to me than you’ll ever know, Blanco.”

Raul nodded. “Come. The children are certainly making Esteban crazy.”

“Probably not,” Guti said with a grin. “He’s astonishingly patient.”

“Which is why he puts up with you.”

* * * *

Juan handed Fernando the Carling Cup, and the heavy, cold silver in his hand sent a thrill all the way through Fernando. Maybe it “just” was the Carling Cup, the one that didn’t really matter, but to Fernando, it symbolized so much more than a 5-0 thrashing of Newcastle on a blustery February Sunday. It was his first piece of club silverware in England, and he kissed the cold face of it with glee and lifted it above his head to the delight of the forty thousand Chelsea fans crowded in the blue half of Wembley Stadium.

“Give it over,” Danny complained good naturedly. “Just ‘cos you scored a hat trick doesn’t mean the bloody thing is yours to keep.”

Fernando laughed out loud and handed it to Danny. The smile was permanently on his face. His cheeks would hurt tomorrow from how much smiling he was doing right now.

In his left hand he clutched his winner’s medal. He had a flashback to the time he was eight, and his youth team had won the local summer cup. He’d worn that shiny piece of cheap medal around his neck until the red ribbon had turned black from dirt. 

As he descended the Wembley steps, he pulled his new medal out of its box and placed it around his neck. He didn’t care if his wife thought he was crazy; he was wearing this to bed tonight.

The next half hour was a blur of celebrating, icy bottles of champagne, interviews, and hugging everyone Fernando could get his arms around. He waxed poetic to Sky Sports about his team, and how he was certain they would carry this momentum through to win the Champions League and the League trophy. Maybe even the FA Cup too. He wanted to win everything forever and ever.

“I think Torres is drunk,” Ashley Cole laughed as Fernando hugged him for the third time as they made their way into the changing room.

Fernando grinned. “No! I haven’t had anything!”

“Then you’re behind,” John said as he handed Fernando a half empty bottle of champagne and gave Frank a sloppy kiss on the cheek, before the older man playfully pushed him away with a whispered, “Later.”

Fernando shared a grin with Frank. It seemed that mummy and daddy had worked out their differences, and to the betterment of everyone. Fernando may have scored the hat trick, but their captains had led them. Frank had started on the bench as he did a lot these days, but had come on in the 65th minute to help push them through to the end with the final goal. Not that Newcastle really looked like scoring or even getting a toe back in the game. Down three-nil at the half, the manager seemed to have told them to just try and retain some dignity in the second half. Fernando was fairly certain Petr had gone to sleep after the break.

Fernando took a gulp of the cheap, bitter champagne, and let the liquid run down his throat and warm his stomach. It was the best thing he’d ever tasted in his life.

* * * *

Mesut had cried himself to sleep the night Sergio left. When he woke up in the morning with a headache, he decided he was tired of being upset over Sergio.

Sergio was an asshole.

A sexy, fun-loving, gorgeous man, but a god dammed asshole.

Why couldn’t Mesut see that six months ago. Six months ago when he feel for the charismatic man. Wasted months of his life over that asshole.

Okay, he admitted to the little voice in the back of his head, yes, being with Sergio had been magical. The sex was ridiculously good. He was fun to be around, but it was always on his own terms. Never when and where Mesut wanted it. Only when Sergio wanted it. And Mesut had let Sergio be in control of him.

For too damn long.

“I’ve done,” he told himself in the mirror after he washed his face. “Not any more.”

With his head high, not knowing who Sergio may have told about his meltdown the night before, Mesut walked into the training center that afternoon. It was an easy, cool down day. Mesut would show no weakness.

He’s not in control of me any more.

Of course, the first person he saw was Sergio. He gave the (gorgeous, was he always so gorgeous, Mes?) man a nod of acknowledgement and turned to his locker, taking not of the surprise in Sergio’s eyes.

He expects me to fall apart, Mesut realized. He expects me to cry and beg to take him back.

Pick another loser, Sergio Ramos. You have them lined up for you anyway.

“What are you glaring at?” Sami asked as he joined Mesut. “Your boots piss you off?”

“No,” Mesut laughed. It felt good. Sami made him feel good. “I’ll tell you later.”

“Alright,” Sami agreed and they got ready for training in companionable silence.

Mesut did his work by Sami’s side. Taking strength from his friend. Not completely ignoring Sergio to the point where others might have questioned, but neither seeking him out like he used to do. 

Don’t need him any more. I’m worth more than that. It was the mantra he played over and over in his head.

“So tell me already,” Sami begged as they two of them walked to dinner later. “You and Ramos didn’t touch each other the entire session.”

Of course Sami had noticed. 

“It’s over.”

“Did he dump you?” Sami got immediately indignant on Mesut’s behalf. He looked angry.

“No, no, no,” Mesut insisted quickly. “Well, not really.”

Sami raised an eyebrow.

Mesut pulled him down a side hallway where they wouldn’t be overheard. There was a bench and they sat. “I asked him if I was ever going to mean more to him than some easy fuck.”

“You did?”

Mesut shrugged. “I mean, I guess this is where you get to say I told you so, because he said no, I wasn’t.”

“Oh Mes,” Sami said. “I didn’t want to be right. You know I didn’t.”

“I know,” Mes said. “But I should have listened. God I was an idiot about him.”

Sami shrugged. “We’ve all been there.”

“Right, Sami Khedira never did an impulsive thing in his life.”

“Okay, some of us are perfect,” Sami agreed and Mesut shoved him and laughed.

“It’s not easy,” Sami grinned. “So are you okay?”

Mesut took a deep breath. “I’m working on it. Having to see him every day, still being Sergio isn’t going to be easy, but I think once you’ve seen behind the curtain at the magic show, it’s hard to forget how the magic isn’t real.”

Sami smiled. “I’m proud of you, Mes. You stood up for yourself and you didn’t back down.”

“I’m not through the woods yet, but if you see me gazing longingly at him, do give me a smack, would you?”

“Any day.”

 

Day 22

Besiktas lost to Schalke over the two legs of the Europa Cup elimination. His team played hard, but in the end the difference was a stellar goal by Raul, and as disappointed as Guti was, he couldn’t be all that sad about it. They still had the domestic cup and the league, both of which they were heavy favorites for. Besiktas continued to try to press Guti into a long term contract, but Guti refused.

“It’s a good job,” Esteban commented one day as they lay in bed on a lazy Sunday.

“I can’t stay in Turkey,” Guti said. “Not if you’re going back to Spain. And my kids.”

“I know,” Esteban said as he lay, eyes closed, while Guti played in his hair, wrapping dark curls around his fingers. He had met Guti’s kids the week before, and they were both as enamored with him as Raul’s brood had been. “I just hate for you to give this job up.”

“I’ve got my agent checking around in Spain,” Guti admitted. “He thinks the Getafe job might be open soon.”

Esteban looked up, startled. “You’d manage at Getafe?”

“What? You played for them!”

“I know,” Esteban said. “And it’s a good club. I guess I just never imagined you there.”

“You Burger King people too good for me?”

“Hush,” Esteban laughed and hugged Guti. 

“It seems a little too perfect. You, me, back in Madrid. You’ve been playing so well and the papers talking you up for the national team.”

Esteban sighed. “I’m never making that squad,” Esteban deferred. “It’s closed shop.”

“I know people,” Guti said as he kissed Esteban on the forehead. “I’ll put in a good word.”

* * * *

Thing were going so well for Chelsea, they started to feel invincible, which might explain how they managed to lose to Aston Villa in the quarter finals of the FA Cup.

“What the hell,” Fernando said with a self defeating sigh as he sat down in the Stamford Bridge dressing room after the 1-0 defeat. Fernando hadn’t started, having played a full 90 earlier in the week, but when he’d come on with twenty minutes to go but had been unable to turn the tide of the match. “We beat Barcelona in the Champions League Wednesday night, how did that happen?”

“I think we underestimated them,” Petr said. The whole team was slumped in front of their lockers, no one moving to get changed or showered.

“We thought we were invincible and got proven wrong,” John agreed. 

Fernando had to admit it was true. They’d been pretty lazy in the past couple of days training. A lot of the lads had gone out celebrating defeating Barcelona not two nights ago, even though they knew better. Who would have thought.

“We still have the Carling Cup,” Frank reminded them. “And we’re into the semi finals of the Champions League. We got Bayern to play, and they’ll be tough, but not unbeatable, and we are well in for the league.”

“Seven points on top,” John agreed with a nod. “It’s ours to lose.”

“I don’t want to lose any more,” Juan said firmly, and everyone echoed their agreement.

“Alright,” John said as he stood. “Done wallowing. Everyone get home and get to bed. Training tomorrow at noon. I for one intend to lift a lot more silverware this season.”

* * * *

Mesut’s life got quieter with Sergio no longer a major part of it. He still got a pang of longing every time he saw the gorgeous man, but he’d remind himself of the misery and move on. Some one else would come along to make him happy.

He went to movies with Sami, and Xabi had started taking him on a tour of Madrid’s art galleries. He was amazed at the things to see and do in Madrid that didn’t involve clubs and loud parties.

His playing had improved, now that his nights were full of restful sleep and not lying away worrying about Sergio. He started every match, and Jose had stopped subbing him out.

He was, in a word: happy.

So when on the Tuesday before their CL semi-final clash against Manchester United, Sergio turned up at the door of his hotel room with that smile on his face, Mesut was not happy to see him.

He tried to cover it. “Hi Sergio. What do you need?”

“Just came to see you,” Sergio sauntered in. “I feel like I never see you any more.”

Mesut blinked in confusion. Because you broke my heart, he thought but knew he could not say aloud. “I’ve been busy.”

“Too busy for an old friend?”

“Sergio, what do you want?” Mesut was backing into the room as Sergio moved toward him. Mesut felt drawn toward Sergio, but he didn’t want to go there. Not again.

Sergio stopped, pouted, and flipped his hair. “Come on, Mes. Just want to have some fun.”

“And I told you I wasn’t in it for fun,” Mesut said, proud of his own resolve. “You didn’t want more than fun and I told you that wasn’t good enough.”

“Maybe I changed my mind.”

“What?”

Sergio smiled, as though he knew he had Mesut in his grasp. “Maybe I wouldn’t mind being more than friends.” This time when Sergio moved in, Mesut didn’t retreat. He stood still and let Sergio trace lines on his bare forearm.

“What about your other lovers.”

Sergio shrugged, looking at Mesut’s arm and not his face. “Aren’t any more.”

“Not even Iker?”

Sergio sighed. “He’s going to be a father. He’s done playing around.”

“Sara’s pregnant?” It was the only piece of that Mesut could fully grasp.

“I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone. They’re not announcing it right now. But he’s decided he wants to be a husband and father.” There was deep bitterness in Sergio’s tone. 

“So now you want to get serious with me?”

“Is that so hard to believe?”

Sergio gave Mesut his sultriest look, and Mesut swallowed hard. This was what you wanted. You wanted Sergio. You wanted a commitment. He’s offering that.

He’s offering that because he got dumped, a little voice in his head reminded him. You weren’t enough when he could still have Iker.

“Mes?”

Mesut looked up and with a flood of relief, saw Sami standing in the doorway. “Sami!”

Sergio looked annoyed as he stepped away from Mesut and gave Sami a glare.

“Weren’t we going to watch the new Hunger Games movie?” Sami said, and Mesut knew that was a complete lie. He and Sami had no plan for this evening, but Mesut was nodding.

“That’s right. Sorry, Sergio.”

Sergio looked at Mesut. He lowered his voice. “I’m not offering again.”

Mesut swallowed hard. “I’m sorry, Sergio. But I need more than to be your last resort.”

Sergio looked like he wanted to say more, but as Sami cleared his throat, Sergio stalked out.

“What was that?” Sami asked as he walked in.

“Me throwing away my chance with Sergio,” Mesut said, struggling to see what he was feeling about it.

“He wanted to fuck?”

“He wanted a relationship,” Mesut said and tipped his head to the side. “I said no.”

Sami bit his lip as a smile started. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Mesut said. “Yeah, I really am.”

Sami wrapped his arms around Mesut. “I’m proud of you.”

Mesut hugged hug back.

“You know something,” Sami whispered in his ear. “The man who you finally decide to be with will be the luckiest man on the face of the planet.”

* * * *

Guti’s cell phone rang late one April afternoon. He was feeling good as Besiktas was poised to seal the league title with a win this weekend, and in less than a month he and Esteban would be moving back to Madrid. They were debating living arrangements. It had been perfectly acceptable that Esteban had stayed with him here in Istanbul, stranger in a strange land and all that, but back in Madrid, eyebrows would be raised if they lived together. There was no good reason for it.

“Hello?” The phone told him it was a Spanish number, but nothing more.

“Guti?”

“Yes?”

“This is Vicente del Bosque, manger of the Spanish National Team.”

Guti knew who he was. “Yes?”

“I’ve been keeping a close eye on things there at Besiktas this winter, though I’m sorry to say I haven’t made it out for a match. I have to say, the work you have done there is impressive.”

“Thank you sir.” Guti’s heart raced. Was del Bosque calling to ask him about Esteban? Maybe he was finally going to get that call up he so richly deserved. “Having Granero here has been invaluable.”

The older man chuckled. “Yes. He’s on my list here to call. But it’s you I want to talk to at the moment. How would you feel about coming on board as a part of the coaching staff? Help us out at the Euros?”

Guti’s jaw actually dropped. “You want me? To coach?”

“You understand the modern game, Guti, and about the modern player. I think you can help me out.”

“I would be honored.”

* * * *

”They brought the trophy in, I saw it getting carried through the press room,” Juan reported with glee as the team readied themselves for their match against Wigan. Three points today would lock up the title, two weeks early. Then the team could start to prepare for the Champions League final versus Real Madrid in three weeks.

Fernando grinned and ruffled Juan’s hair. This was a first for both of them: winning the league title, but he could tell that even the veterans were giddy with excitement. 

It would be no easy match. Wigan were fighting for their premiere league survival, and while they certainly didn’t really expect to come in and beat the would be heirs to the title, Wigan, under the care of Roberto Martinez, were not a team that would roll over lightly.

Everyone was joking around, laughing, and enjoying the moment to come. Fernando had never been in a dressing room with as good of a spirit as at Chelsea. He was sure their winning season was the reason.

The warm up was completed. The buzz of the Stamford Bridge crowd got them even more hyped up, if that was possible. By the time they returned to the dressing room, everyone was vibrating with it.

“I know we don’t really need a pep talk today,” John said as he stood, looking around the room and meeting everyone’s eye. “But while I have your attention, I want to say thank you to everyone in this room. We fought hard this season. Every single one of you have contributed to today, whether you’re a regular starter or someone who comes in for us in a pinch, everyone of you have made today possible. So let’s go out there and win this one like the champions we already know we are.”

Fernando jumped up. He was ready. He was starting and he would score today. He would be the one to bring this title home to this team. He had earned the right to go out there today and line up among champions. And not by right of birth. He had proved himself against every other player in the world, and he was going to live up to the expectations set before him.

“You’re thinking deep thoughts,” Juan teased him as he moved around Fernando to take his place in line. He had to be tenth. Always.

“I’m planning my player of the year acceptance speech,” Fernando joked, though he knew Juan probably deserved it more than him. Juan was their play maker. Most of Fernando’s goals came from his excellent passes.

“Let me help,” Juan said as he shook out his legs. “I would like to thank Juan Mata who truly deserves this award. Juan? Please come and accept it.”

“Hush,” Fernando said with a hand on the top of his head.

Play like a champion, Fernando told himself and stepped out onto the grass of Stamford Bridge to the roar of the crowd. Today is the day.  
Day 23

The champions of Spain versus the champions of England for the right to call themselves champions of Europe. Jose Mourinho’s Real Madrid against the one club he wasn’t able to win the Champion’s League with. Real in it for their 10th. Chelsea hoping to finally get their first. The importance of this match could not be overstated.

Guti sat in one of the posh boxes at the Allianz Arena, Esteban to his right, Aitor to his left. Aitor was chattering excitedly with Raul’s son Jorge. Raul and his family were returning to Madrid. He’d been given a position at Real Madrid, and a year ago, Guti would have been insanely jealous. Now he was only happy for Raul because he would be just across town, managing Getafe as soon as he finished his temporary job as national team assistant manager. He’d tried to talk Esteban into coming with him, but Esteban had politely turned him down and make him feel better with sex.

“Daddy! I want an ice cream!” Aitor tugged on Guti’s shirt.

“We just had dinner,” Guti pointlessly told him. Aitor was a bottomless pit when it came to eating. Considering he trained harder at his age than Guti ever had, it was no wonder.

“Raul said Jorge could have one.”

“Raul!” Guti complained, but he grinned across their sons at Raul who shrugged. “It’s the Champions League final. Let them have an ice cream.”

Aitor nodded fervently. “Raul said.”

“Fine,” Guti conceded and Jorge and Aitor scampered back into the suite to raid the freezer.

“They’re spending the night with Raul,” Esteban said with a wicked grin.

“Wait a minute,” Raul said and got half out of his seat.

Guti laughed. “Thanks again for that.”

“No worries,” Raul said. The five of them had spend a fun day in Munich, and Raul was keeping the boys in his room tonight so Guti and Esteban could have some time alone. Then both of them had to scamper back to Madrid to meet up with the national team. Esteban had gotten a call up for the Euro squad after his excellent play at Besiktas. 

The boys returned with massive cones and began to devour them. The teams began to appear for warm-ups. Guti looked down at the whites with a pang of envy.

“Remember that night in Glasgow?” Raul said, reading Guti’s thoughts.

“How could I forget?” Guti said. “One of the greatest nights of my life.”

“I watched that match. Me and my dad,” Esteban said, and Guti squeezed his knee affectionately.

“This night feels the same,” Raul said with confidence. “It is time for Real to win again.”

* * * *

Fernando tried to shake off the pain in his calf. It had been bugging him since the last match of the season, but he’d not told anyone about it. He was terrified they were going to tell him he couldn’t play in the final. He couldn’t miss tonight. 

“You okay?” the trainer asked, walking past him and looking right at Fernando’s dodgy left calf.

“Great!” Fernando said, unable to meet his eye. 

He was fine. Fine.

The team was rather subdued that evening. Fernando knew the last time the team had gone to the Champions League final, things had gone terribly wrong. John had a quiet, stressed out look to him that made Fernando a little nervous. 

They tried to talk each other up, but there was something missing. Something not quite right.

* * * *

“How good would it be to win this here?” Mesut asked as he looked around the packed stadium.

“In Germany, you mean?” Sami asked with a smile as the Champion’s League anthem began to play.

“Yeah. My parents are here,” Mesut said.

“Mine too,” Sami replied.

“Isn’t it strange to think our parents have never met?”

“What?”

“I mean, when you were a kid, you knew all your friend’s parents. Now I’m an adult, I don’t know any of your parents!”

“You’ve met my mother,” Cristiano said as the anthem finished and they turned to greet the Chelsea players.

“I have!” Mesut laughed. “She’s very nice.”

“Lord, Ozil has lost it,” Gonzalo rolled his eyes as he pushed Mesut along the line. “You can meet my mother this summer.”

“Fun!”

In truth, Mesut was giddy. This was everything he’d ever started playing football for. Nights like this. His parents in the crowd feeling proud of him. They were going to win tonight. He just knew it.

* * * *

Fernando stood in dread as the Real Madrid players started down the row, shaking hands. Sergio was coming. He wasn’t ready to see Sergio he...

“Hermano,” Iker said as he embraced Fernando tightly.

Sergio leaned in and kissed Fernando on the cheek. “Good luck.”

“And you,” Fernando replied, and the moment was past. This was not the time or the place for any thing more, but Fernando realized that he needed closure with Sergio. Never mind they would be spending over a month together this summer, he needed to talk to Sergio. Make their peace. Maybe find a place where they could be friends again.

The match began and Fernando’s calf felt like it was on fire. He was never going to make it 90 on this. Make it to the half. Score a goal and make it to the half.

He played through the pain, but the glances he kept getting from his teammates told him they could tell that Fernando was struggling. No, he thought, I’m fine, pass me the ball!

On thirty minutes, Gonzalo Higuain scored, putting Real Madrid in the lead.

Fuck. Fernando thought as he made his way back to the center circle. As he leaned over, trying to stretch out his calf which was on fire, Frank leaned down.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine!” Fernando snapped, but was immediately sorry. He looked up at Frank. “Calf. I thought I could run it off, but...”

Frank nodded. “Let Eva know if you can. I know you want to play, but we need eleven fit players.”

“I know,” Fernando said, fighting tears. “FIve more minutes.”

Frank nodded, but as play resumed, Fernando knew he was done for. When he got near the bench, he caught the eye of Eva, their team doctor. She’d been watching him, and when he gestured to his calf, she nodded. He saw her get up to whisper in Andre’s ear, and Andre turn to gesture to Danny Sturridge to start warming up.

* * * *

“One - nil. One is not enough against a team like Chelsea!” Guti was up and pacing the suite. There were ten minutes to go and Chelsea were raining balls at the beleaguered Real Madrid defense. For the low score line, the match had been anything but boring. End to end. The only thing keep the score down were the world’s two best keepers at either end, in a fierce battle of wills.

“HALA MADRID!” shouted a nervous Aitor who was possibly more on edge than his father. Guti looked down at the fretting boy, and knew he had to calm himself down. He sat and pulled Aitor into his lap.

“We’re going to win,” he whispered in Aitor’s ear with more confidence than he felt. That Sturridge was fucking amazing. And Drogba. Fuck.

He laid his head on Aitor’s shoulder. “You know I love you, right?”

Aitor nodded. “I love you, Daddy.”

Guti felt a hand on his shoulder, and he looked over to see Esteban smiling at him. Guti smiled back. He wanted to tell Esteban he loved him too, but that would wait for later tonight.

* * * * 

Mesut heard the final whistle blow and he was immediately attacked from behind.

“WE WON!”

Mesut laughed as Sami lifted him off the ground.

They had won. They’d won the fucking Champion’s League.

“WE WON!” Mesut laughed.

Pepe attacked them both and they fell to the ground in a heap. Real players began to pile on and Mesut laughed and laughed as tears began to fall from his eyes. He saw Sami’s face inches from his own. Sami. Everything good that happened in his life, Sami was there. Everything that went wrong, Sami was there.

In a blur, Sami’s lips were pressed to his own. Mesut’s eyes were wide with shock.

And then it was over. Sami and Mesut we pulled apart as the pile disbanded. Mesut’s lips tingled.

But...Sami didn’t think about him that way. Sami was his friend. Sami was....perfect in every single way.

And in that moment, as the team ran to celebrate with the fans, he knew what was in his heart all along.

He loved Sami.

 

Day 24

Fernando walked into the house with his case dragging behind him. The kitchen light was on, which didn’t surprise him as Olalla often left a light on when she knew he’d be late.

But he wasn’t expecting her to be waiting for him with a glass of champagne in her hand.

“We lost,” Fernando said, confused. He knew Olalla watched his matches, maybe not with her full concentration, but sure she knew...?

“Congratulations,” Olalla said as she handed him the glass. “You’re going to be a father again.”

Fernando’s exhausted and disappointed brain couldn’t even process. “Baby?”

Olalla laughed at him. “Baby!”

“Oh my god,” Fernando said as tears welled in his eyes. “Oh my god.” He reached for Olalla and hugged her tightly, every unhappy thought gone from his mind. “We’re gonna have another baby!”

 

Day 25

 

Day 26

 

Mesut's mind was reeling. The kiss. Sami had kissed him. The team was in a frenzy. So no one noticed his total disorientation. 

"CAMPEONES!" Iker sang and threw his arms around Mesut.

Mesut laughed. They were they were champions. The best of the best in Europe.

Sami had kissed him.

He'd lost Sami some where in the melee. Where was Sami?

"Iker! Trophy!" Sergio came running up. He threw his arms around them as well, and it was okay, Mesut realized. He didn't feel anything about Sergio except joy to be sharing this moment. He hugged Sergio back.

"You keep away from my trophy," Iker laughed, and arm in arm, the three headed to the side of the pitch where the team was assembling.

Mesut saw Sami and pulled away from Iker and Sergio, running to him. "Sami!"

Sami saw him and his face lit up. Mesut ran into his arms, hugging him fiercely.

"You kissed me," Mesut whispered over the noise. 

"You noticed," Sami replied. "I did that on purpose."

"Why?"

Sami laughed. "Oh Mesut, you really are blind, aren't you?"

"But...I..." Mesut said. Sami was in love with him. When did that happen? "I didn't know."

"Like I said, blind."

But Sami was laughing as he let go and his hand slid into Mesut's. He tugged Mesut with him as they followed the rest of the team up the stairs, Mesut couldn't stop looking at him. When did that happen? Sami was his friend. Sami wasn't gay...was he?

But Sami's thumb caressed the palm of Mesut's hand. Mesut's body reacted. Sami.

The next two hours were a literal blur. They got the trophy. There was more celebrating. He vaguely recalled seeing Raul and Guti in the dressing room, with Esteban, congratulating everyone.

But he had no space in his brain for anyone, anything but Sami.

They were staying over in Munich. They were taken back to the hotel, and told to get some sleep, as they had an early flight and a day full of celebrations with the people of Madrid.

Sami never let go of Mesut. He pulled Mesut to their room and slammed the door.

Mesut pushed into Sami. "Kiss me again."

Sami obliged. With a wicked smile, Sami descended his lips down to Mesut's parted lips and dove in. Mesut let out a groan as Sami kissed him like he'd been waiting to his whole life.

After several heady moments, Mesut pulled away. "I didn't even know you were gay!"

Sami shrugged as he gazed at Mesut. "I don't know what I am. I love you. I'm Mesut-sexual."

Mesut let out a laugh of pure joy. "How...how long?"

Sami smiled as brushed hair back from Mesut's face. "I feel like I've always loved you. You know?"

Mesut nodded. "I mean, I love you because you're the best friend I've ever had, but I..."

"Was so so caught up on Ramos?" Sami teased lightly.

"If I'd know I could have had you, I wouldn't have wasted a single moment," Mesut sighed and pulled Sami toward the bed. Sami was his. Sami was his and he wanted him for every and always.

"Are you sure?" Sami questioned.

"I've been waiting my whole life for this."

* * * *

Guti straightened the collar on his official coach's polo shirt and looked at himself in the mirror. He'd had his hair cut and taken out the earrings. Did he look coach like? At Besiktas, he'd still be playing, so he didn't really worry, but now as he was officially retired, coaching full time, he felt like he should make an effort.

"Gorgeous," Esteban kissed his cheek quickly.

Guti beamed and playfully shoved him away. "We gotta behave. I shouldn't be fraternizing with the players."

"As coach you're going to have to punish me if I don't train hard," Esteban whispered in his ear.

Guti groaned as desire shot through him. "Stop. That."

Esteban escaped out of Guti's room and Guti followed, closing the door behind him. Sergio was coming down the hall, and the usually effusive defender looked subdued.

"Hey Ramos," Guti said as he fell into step beside his old friend. He waited for the barb he was sure to get about his attire, but Sergio just nodded. "You okay?"

Sergio shrugged. "Sure, why?"

"I dunno, you have insulted my hair yet."

Sergio's eyes flicked up, and that familiar look came into his eyes. "Really, Jose Maria?"

"There you go!" Guti laughed. "But really. What's up?"

"Oh...nothing," Sergio said again, but then continued, "Iker's having a baby, you're in a relationship, Cristiano's been brushing me off."

"Sergio needs laid?" Guti asked. "That's sad."

"Fuck off!" Sergio said, and there was hurt in his tone.

"Oh, come on," Guti said. "I'm kidding."

"I know," Sergio said with a petulant look. "No one's any fun any more."

Guti frowned. He thought he was a lot of fun. He, Esteban, and the kids had all gone out to the park yesterday and then pizza for dinner. It had been a blast.

But as he looked at Sergio, he realized that people had changed. He had changed so much. He wanted to say something to make Sergio feel better, but as they stepped out onto the training pitch, the smile fell back into place, and Sergio found a group to join.

* * * *

A baby, Fernando thought as he showered after training. They were having a baby. A boy or a girl, he wondered. He had one of each, and if asked, he couldn't tell what he wanted this time. They'd thought two was enough, but as Leo was walking around the house, looking like a little boy rather than a baby, and Olalla and Fernando had somewhere mutually just decided that it was time for another. Maybe they'd fill the whole house.

"What are you thinking about?" Xabi asked. "You look like the cat that got the canary."

"Oh," Fernando said. They weren't going to announce it, but, "Olalla's pregnant."

"Oh, congrats, mate." Xabi had a wide smile and smacked Fernando on the back. "Another adorable Torres to add to the world?"

"That's the plan," Fernando grinned. 

"We're done at two," Xabi said. "I love them to death, but that's enough."

"We said that too," Fernando said. "But apparently we don't listen to ourselves."

Xabi chuckled. "Yeah, we've done that too. Fortunately we usually agree."

Fernando saw Sergio by himself in the corner. Something was not right with his old friend.

Could he even really call Sergio his friend any more? After all these years? Had it come too far to ever go back to being just friends?

When Sergio turned to leave, Fernando turned off his own shower and followed him.

"How are you?" he asked conversationally.

Sergio shot him a suspicious look. "Fine."

Fernando supposed he deserved that. He hadn't exactly been friendly the last time they'd spoken. "You want to go to lunch with me?"

"Aren't we all eating in the cafeteria?"

Fernando shrugged. "Sure, but I thought we could eat together. Catch up."

"Why?"

Sergio's look was less unfriendly and more actually curious. Why did Fernando want to be his friend?

"Because you used to always be the person I could tell everything, and I miss you. As a friend."

Sergio considered this for a moment as he dried himself off. Fernando had never been able to work out what exactly went on in Sergio's head. People assumed he was empty headed, but Fernando knew better. Sergio didn't always think before he acted, it was true, but when Sergio took the time to think things over, he took his time, and usually came out with the right answer.

"Sure, we can have lunch."

"Wonderful."

* * * *

"Mesut's got that dopey look again!" Mario accused as he watch Mesut from across the changing room. They'd just won their first group stages match of the Euros with a rather sound thrashing of Ireland. Mesut had a smile on his face, for sure, but he smiled most of the time anymore.

"What?" Mesut asked, trying to look innocent as Sami peeled off his clothes next to him. The team had the night off after the win, on controlled leave. (no partying, if you were staying out, you had to say where)

"He's heading out tonight to get him some," Bastian agreed. "What's her name?"

"Is my mother paying you lot?" Mesut asked with a laugh. "Will you be asking when there will be grandchildren, next?"

"You didn't knock up some girl, did you?" Philipp asked, looking concerned.

"Yes. Her name is Gretta and she's a FInnish porn star!" Mesut announced.

Sami was nearly rolling on the floor next to him.

"I told you he was into blondes!"

The team found someone else to torment, and Sami leaned in. "You better not be screwing around on me."

Mesut grinned. "If I had the actual energy to have sex with anyone else, it'd be a miracle."

"Good," Sami said, and Mesut knew he was teasing. Sami had no cause to question him. Not now. Not ever.

The two of them had a quiet evening planned. Sami had rented a little cottage outside of town, using an assumed name. Mesut was going to cook them dinner. It was the first real date they'd had. Ever since Munich, life had been so hectic, that stolen moments were all they'd gotten. They were planning a very long vacation somewhere very remote where not a soul would bother them after the Euros.

Mesut couldn't wait.

* * * *

Spain was starting to find their form again as the group stages progressed. Fernando was scoring goals, and they'd only let in one goal. After several shaky friendlies in the build up, people had begun to question their form, and most people thought Germany were the heavy favorites to win.

Guti knew they could beat them if they could stay focused on their football. He'd seen it too many times in his years at Real Madrid- good teams that underachieved for no other reason than they thought they were good and let it go to their heads.

They team were listening to him. At first, when he'd gone to players like Xavi and Iniesta, to comment on their movement off the ball or their defensive positioning, he'd half expected to get a face full of attitude. Who was he to tell them what to do? But Guti had learned a thing or two about talking to players in his time at Besiktas, and when he approached them with ideas and not criticisms, they listened attentively and tried to take on board what he had said. It wasn't that he thought he knew any better than them, but he could see things from an angle they could not.

It was something he'd never even considered as a player.

What an idiot he'd been.

"Granero! Get out of your head! Don't think. JUST KICK!"

Esteban sighed in exasperation, thought Guti knew he was right. Esteban has world class skill in his feet, but his analytical mind threw him off. The best players didn't think, they just did. Esteban was forever psyching himself out.

He was lining up a corner kick as the team was working on set plays. Guti walked over to him and whispered, "Try not to think about my cock."

Esteban drilled in a corner kick that neatly landed on Sergio's head and slammed past Iker so fast, theit captain could only stand there and stare.

Guti beamed. See? There was nothing to this coaching.

* * * *

Once the ice had been broken with Sergio, Fernando and he began to take long walks in the afternoon, catching up with things. Fernando had told Olalla about it, not to assure her that he wasn't cheating, because the thought hadn't occurred to him, but because he wanted her to know that he and Sergio were friends again. This time friends for real. And she was happy for him.

"You love him."

"I do," Fernando had said, and the thought made him happy. "Kiss the babies and the bump for me."

"There's no bump yet!" she'd protested with a laugh, but he knew she was rubbing her tummy anyway.

As he hung up, Sergio knocked on the door to his room, and Fernando put the phone on the charger with a smile.

"Ready?"

"Yep," Fernando said and grabbed his key. Sergio still seemed a little melancholy, and Fernando suspected why after the tabloids had exploded with the news of Iker and Sara's baby.

Today they headed south of the hotel. The team was staying in a little village in Poland, and the area was full of winding paths.

"So," Fernando said, seeing no need to ignore the elephant in the room. "Iker's gonna be a dad."

Sergio glanced at him. "He's really happy about it."

"He loves kids," Fernando agreed.

"He doesn't want to sleep with me any more," Sergio said, and Fernando ached for him. It was three years ago all over again for Sergio.

Fernando couldn't think of a comment that wasn't condescending. He let a silence fall between them.

"I never seem to find the ones who'd consider being just with me," Sergio said quietly. "That's not true. I had one who did and I fucked that up royally."

"Mesut?" Fernando asked and when Sergio looked surprised, he added, "Xabi mentioned it."

"Mesut was in love with me and I threw it away."

"Maybe it's not too late," Fernando tried.

"It's way too late," Sergio cut him off with a mirthless laugh. "He and Khedira are together now, and honestly, even if I'd not fucked it up, they'd have ended up together."

Fernando nodded, understanding. "Sometimes it's just meant to be."

"How do you know?" Sergio asked earnestly. "I just can't even tell. I think I'm in love with someone, but then there's someone else I want and..."

"It's fucking hard," Fernando said honestly. "There's a reason God mentioned it in one of the big ten commandments- not committing adultery, because he knows it's not easy. Relationships take so much work."

"Do you ever think you've made a mistake?"

"In marrying Olalla?" Fernando asked. He search Sergio's face, trying to find his angle, but there was nothing in his face but an honest question.

"No," Fernando finally answered. "It's been hard sometimes. When I'm tired and she's tired and the world is peering in our windows and I just want to hide under the bed and be five again, but then I take a deep breath and face up to it. Because some times it sucks, but not because of her. Because some times it just sucks, and being an adult means realizing that it sucks, and getting on with it."

"I don't like it when it sucks."

"Oh Sese," Fernando sighed and stopped on the path. He pulled Sergio close. Sergio held on to him tightly as though trying to pull strength from Fernando. "I know. But it's life. And if you can find one person to get you through the sucky parts and still wants to know you even if you fuck up royally, that's how you know."

"What if I never do?"

"Then you still have me as a friend, to call up and help get you through. And I bet Iker is still willing to be there for you, and that little Casillas baby is going to need a godfather."

"I'd make a good godfather," Sergio decided with a sniffle.

"You're an awesome uncle," Fernando agreed.

"I love you, Nando."

"Love you too, Sese."

 

Day 27

There was a knock on the door to Sami and Mesut’s hotel room. Mesut swore and jumped out of Sami’s bed and into his own. With a sleepy yawn, Sami rolled over to look at him. 

“What are you doing?”

“There’s someone at the door!” Mesut whispered as the knock sounded again.

Sami brushed his hair back and grinned. “And unless you open the door, they won’t have any idea you were in my bed.”

Mesut looked at Sami over the covers he’d pulled up to protect himself and started to laugh. 

The banging increased. “Hey! You two naked in there or what?”

Mesut dove under the covers as he heard Sami get up. Oh god, everyone knew. Everyone knew and they would get kicked off the team and....

“What the fuck do you want Philipp?”

“What are you two doing?”

“We’re sleeping. It’s 8 am and we don’t have training until eleven.”

“Oh. I wondered if you guys had the Harry Potter DVDs.”

“No, we were watching Disney princesses, you know Mesut likes Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty.”

Mesut looked out. “I do not!”

“Hush, your highness,” Sami shot back at him. “Anything else, or can we sleep?”

“Sorry,” Philipp disappeared and Sami shut the door.

“I do not like princess movies!” Mesut protested again. Okay, maybe he did like the Little Mermaid, but his mum had read him the story when he was little.

Sami shook his head as he climbed into Mesut’s bed. “And now Philipp runs off any tells everyone we watch Disney movies and totally forgets that I answered the door in my boxers and you were hiding under the covers of a bed that hadn’t been slept in.”

“Oh,” Mesut said as Sami’s warmth enveloped him. He let out a happy little sigh.

“We’re fine,” Sami assured him as he rested his head in the crook of Mesut’s neck.

“I know, but I just think that there’s no way they don’t all notice how much I love you,” Mesut whispered.

“People see what they want to see,” Sami assured him. “If it wasn’t true and they wanted it to be, they’d say they could see it anyway.”

“Yeah,” Mesut agreed. He wished the world wasn’t stupid the way it was and would let him and Sami just be together. But the world was what it was, and he knew that if they wanted to stay together, they’d have to pretend.

“Stop worrying about it,” Sami whispered. “Nothing is ever going to take me away from you.”

“Promise?”

“Promise. We will spend our fiftieth anniversary surrounded by all of our children and grandchildren and everyone will laugh at how stupid the world was when we first fell in love.”

Mesut grinned. “Children?”

“Oh yes. And they will all have these crinkly little ears,” Sami nuzzled Mesut’s ear.

“Oh, no,” Mesut said. “Not the ears!”

“Oh yes,” Sami said as he wrestled Mesut down on his back. He dove in and started nibbling on Mesut’s ear. “Just like these.”

Mesut giggled. Sami loved all the things about him. Even the way his ears crinkled. And he loved everything about Sami. Sami who knew his thoughts and fears even when he didn’t say them out loud.

And together they could take on this stupid world.

* * * *

Mesut had realized that he was going to have to tell his parents about Sami sooner or later. The team had a day off to spend with family and friends, and Mesut’s parents were coming up to see him.

“I think I’m gonna tell my parents.”

Sami looked at him across the hotel room. “About us?”

Mesut shrugged. “About me being gay, at least.”

“You want me to go with you?” Sami asked, and his eyes were earnest.

“Do you want to?”

Sami smiled. “Well, I supposed I’d rather just hide in a bed with you for the rest of my life, but your family is important to you, and I’d rather not spend the rest of my life on the side lines, having to pretend we’re not together.”

“You want to come OUT?” Mesut’s eyes got wide.

“No,” Sami said. “Not to the world. Just to our families.”

“My mum isn’t going to be happy.”

Sami shrugged. “She loves you. When you tell her we’re going to have dozens of grand babies for her, how can she object?

* * * *

“What is Sergio doing?” Guti asked as he sat down next to Fernando in the team rec room. Tomorrow was the Final of the Euros. They were going to face Germany in tomorrow night’s final. The whole team was in the room that evening, late, far too keyed up to get to sleep.

“Uh, he’s reading a book,” Fernando said as he saw Sergio looking at the Kindle he’d borrowed off Xabi.

“No, really,” Guti asked. 

“I think he is,” Fernando said. “He’s trying to be more adult.”

“I’m an adult and I don’t read books,” Guti pointed out logically. “It must be porn.”

“Guti!” Fernando laughed.

Guti grinned and pushed back his hair. “Is he still having a hard time because everyone went and got in a serious relationship and he didn’t?”

“He’s better,” Fernando said. “I just think he’s realizing that you can’t just do whatever you want, when ever you want, and not hurt some people’s feelings.”

“Damn,” Guti blinked. “He got there a lot younger than I did.”

“He had good role models,” Fernando said. “How’s Esteban?”

“He’s good,” Guti smiled. “Nervous as hell about the final. He’s talking to his parents.”

“I think a lot of us are. Even our third go around at this.”

“Some of us have never done this before!” Guti reminded him. 

“You never played in a cup final for Spain?” 

Guti laughed. “Back when I’d occasionally get a call up, Spain didn’t make it to cup finals.”

Fernando grinned. “Sorry. It’s kind of become a habit for the rest of us.”

“It’s a good habit to have.”

Fernando looked at Sergio again. A young woman had walked over to him. She was one of the team’s PR reps, and a stunningly gorgeous brunette. She laid her hand on Sergio’s shoulder and he looked up at her.

As Fernando watched, he saw Sergio give the young woman his stunning smile, and the poor girl about passed out from the strength of it.

“What’s her name?” Guti asked, as he’d been watching the exchange as well.

“Caroline,” Fernando replied as Sergio got up to follow her. The pair passed by the table Guti and Fernando sat at and Guti raised an eyebrow at Sergio.

“I have an interview,” Sergio told them.

“At this hour?”

“Shut up,” Sergio said, but a slight flush of his cheeks betrayed him.

Fernando watched him go with a smile. Sergio could never be lonely. Not really.

* * * *

“I am so jealous of you,” Philipp said as he pulled on his boots. The team was getting ready for the final.

Mesut looked at the team captain. “Jealous why?”

“You and Sami.”

Mesut’s eyes bugged out a little. “What about us? We’re just friends. Really, really, really good friends.”

Philipp laughed. “Calm down, Mes, I’m not going to out the two of you or anything. I think it’s great. You obviously make each other really happy. And neither of you are married or anything.”

Mesut looked at Philipp. It dawned on him what Philipp was going on about. He’s heard the rumors, of course, about Philipp and Timo, but he’d always assumed it was just rumors. 

“So you’re...” Mesut didn’t want to use any of the words on the tip of his tongue.

Philipp shrugged. “I don’t know what I am. I love my wife. But he’s still in my heart, you know?”

Mesut nodded.

“We don’s see each other much any more,” Philipp said, and there were tears in his eyes. He shook his head. “Anyway. I think it’s great. Hold on to that, okay?”

Mesut nodded again. “I intend to.” The conversation with his parents had gone far better than he’d anticipated. His mother had patted his hand and said ‘we knew’. His father had looked over Sami and seemed to approve. They had all agreed to keep it under wraps, and they were going to see Sami’s parents soon.

“What was that all about?” Sami asked as Philipp walked away.

Mesut shrugged. “He just wanted to say he wasn’t fooled by the princess movies cover story.”

“He knows?”

“He’s jealous of you, to be honest,” Mesut said with a dead pan expression.

Sami laughed out loud. “Everyone is, baby. Everyone.”

* * * *

Fernando lined up beside Sergio and the Spanish National Anthem began to play. He’d teased Sergio earlier about Caroline, and Sergio admitted having asked for her number. She lived in Madrid and worked full time for the Spanish FA, and he was going to take her out on a date some time next week.

Fernando sighed in happiness. Maybe Caroline wasn’t Sergio’s forever and only, but he loved that Sergio was always willing to get back in the saddle. Sergio would be okay.

The German players came past to shake hands, and Sergio leaned in to kiss Mesut on the cheek. Mesut smiled at him affectionately, and even Sami came past and gave Sergio a hug. There was one thing you could say for footballers. Whatever might happen between them, they always let it go when it came to the pitch.

“Fernando, you’re thinking sappy things,” Xabi accused as they jogged to their end of the pitch.

“I love you, man!” Fernando laughed and threw his arms around Xabi.

“Make sure he doesn’t get drug checked today,” Xabi laughed as David Silva ran up to join the hug.

“I love you all!”

Soon the entire team was in a huddle on the pitch. “We can do this,” Fernando said as he made a point to meet Esteban’s eye. The young man smiled. 

“Duh,” David Villa said, but he was grinning.

The huddle broke up, and Fernando took his place. He took in the crowd. He said a prayer for a good, safe match, and a thank you for his wife and three children. Whatever happened today, he had them. And that was more than enough.

* * * *

Guti chewed his finger nails. This game was too close, too tight. It was well into the first half, and both teams were treating each other with far too much respect. No one was going for it.

He was sat next to Cesc Fabregas, who was shaking his leg and jostling the bench.

“Stop it,” he ordered, laying his hand on the Catalan’s knee.

“Sorry,” Cesc said and crossed his arms, trying to stay still. 

It lasted about fifteen seconds and then Cesc was doing it again.

Guti gave up. “Torres needs to get back more. Stop hanging out and waiting for Villa to pass it through to him. They’ve got Villa locked down. Torres can break through.”

Cesc jiggled as he watched. “Silva’s getting more movement. Maybe he could play Nando in?”

“Khedira has Silva’s number,” Guti pointed out. “He’s giving him space when he has no where to go, so we keep feeding Silva the ball because he’s open, but the minute he has a pass, Khedira is cutting him off.”

“I could get in behind them,” Cesc decided. “I could get in there.”

Guti wasn’t sure if Cesc was delusional or a genius. “You might.”

“I could,” Cesc nodded again. “Get me in there and I could get in.”

“You just want in the match,” Guti said.

“Uh, yeah!” Cesc said with a grin. “I assisted on the World Cup winning goal, you know.”

“I had no idea,” Guti said even though Cesc mentioned it at least twice a week. Guti did like the effusive young man, but seriously, he was his own biggest fan.

“I did,” Cesc nodded, the sarcasm clear over his head that was covered in a mess of hair that rivaled Carles Puyol’s these days.

“I tell you what,” Guti said with a wicked gleam in his eye. “I get you in, and you make the winning goal happen, I get to shave your head.”

Cesc looked at him, and fingered his beloved tressed. “But...that’s not a good deal!”

Damn, kid was not as dim as Guti thought. “Okay, I get you in and you don’t make the winning goal happen, and I shave your head.”

Cesc had to think for a moment. “Deal.”

* * * *

The second half began, and Mesut took off after the ball. It had been a cagey 0-0 up to this point, and Mesut knew the Spanish team could not be underestimated. He’d played against everyone of their squad at some point over the season, never mind the ones he trained with every day, and he knew what they were capable of.

But he also knew what Germany was capable of. He knew this team was full of the best in the world and were well managed. He knew they could do this.

Sami kicked the ball out to Mesut, and Mesut took off like a shot. He dashed past Carles Puyol who lunged for him. Seen that trick before, cule, Mesut thought as he passed the ball through to Mario, who got dispossessed by a lunging Pique.

Fuck, Mesut thought at he took off again. They could do this, they could do this.

The half wore on, and Mesut’s legs started to scream at him. He’d been going flat out for the entire match. Ten more minutes. They needed a goal. Spain was threatening. The match was going end to end.

Cesc Fabregas was subbed into the game, his hair blowing in the breeze of the warm summer evening. 

Fresh legs. Fuck.

But Mesut didn’t give up. They were too close. He had to make sure this happened.

So when Cesc loped past him, looking like a gazelle out for an afternoon stroll, Mesut found the last bit of energy in his legs and wrested the ball off of him. 

He went sprinting toward the goal. He passed off to Sami, and then got the back back. He dodged around Xavi and flicked another quick one-two to Philipp.

And as he got sight of the goal, his eyes not even registering it was Iker standing between him and history, he left the ball fly.


End file.
